Port  Ar  fife  nt 


Colton 


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i'tijliij 

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1 1 


CHAUNCEY  WETMORE  WELLS 

1872-1933 


This  book  belonged  to  Chauncey  Wetmore  Wells.  He  taught  in 
Yale  College,  of  which  he  was  a  graduate,  from  1897  to  1901,  and 
from  1901  to  1933  at  this  University. 

Chauncey  Wells  was,  essentially,  a  scholar.  The  range  of  his  read 
ing  was  wide,  the  breadth  of  his  literary  sympathy  as  uncommon 
as  the  breadth  of  his  human  sympathy.  He  was  less  concerned 
with  the  collection  of  facts  than  with  meditation  upon  their  sig 
nificance.  His  distinctive  power  lay  in  his  ability  to  give  to  his 
students  a  subtle  perception  of  the  inner  implications  of  form, 
of  manners,  of  taste,  of  the  really  disciplined  and  discriminating 
mind.  And  this  perception  appeared  not  only  in  his  thinking  and 
teaching  but  also  in  all  his  relations  with  books  and  with  men. 


,77 


TIOBA 

BY  ARTHUR  COLTON 

With  a  Frontispiece  by  A.  B.  Frost 

i2mo,  $1.25 

Mr.  Colton  here  depicts  a  gallery  of  very  varied  Americans. 
He  is  already  in  the  front  rank  of  American  story-tellers,  and 
these  tales  add  to  his  reputation.  Tioba  was  a  mountain  which 
meant  well  but  was  mistaken. 

Bookman  :  "  He  is  always  the  artist  observer,  adding  stroke 
upon  stroke  with  the  surest  of  sure  pens,  ...  an  author  who 
recalls  the  old  traditions  that  there  were  once  such  things  as  good 
writing  and  good  story-telling." 

Critic :  "Eleven  stories  in  each  of  which  he  has  presented  some 
out  of  the  way  fragment  of  life  with  faithfulness  and  power.  .  . 
he  has  the  artist's  instinct." 

Lamp  :  "  Here  is  a  man  who  has  originality,  feeling,  humor." 

Harper's  Weekly  :  "He  has  individuality,  humor,  insight,  pic- 
turesqueness  of  language." 

Outlook :  "  Eleven  stories  of  good  literary  quality,  delicate 
humor,  and  subtle  comprehension  of  human  nature." 

N,  Y.  Tribune :  "The  eleven  stories  are  varied  and  interest 
ing.  .  .  .  There  is  serious  thought  as  well  as  good  art  in  this 
book  ;  there  is  individuality  also,  and  we  gladly  commend  it." 

N.  Y.  Evening  Post:  "Mr.  Colton  rarely  fails  to  strike  the 
reader's  fancy  by  his  unexpected  and  ingenious  turns  of  thought 
and  his  quaint  way  of  putting  things." 

N.  Y.  Sun  .-  "These  stories  are  all  worth  while." 

N.  Y.  Times'  Saturday  Review:  "Most  of  these  tales  are 
excellent." 

Chicago  Post ;  "  Crisp  dialogue,  repressed  humor,  and  pleasant 
sympathy." 

Henry  Holt  and  Company 


Mr.  Champney  lifted  his  brows,  appreciating  the  rhetoric.  Camil 
la's  face  was  flushed  with  excitement.  "  How  glorious  !  And  now, 
Dick!" 

(Page  33) 


Port  Argent 


H  1Rox>el 


By  ARTHUR  COLTON 


WITH  A  FRONTISPIECE  BY  ELIOT  KEEN 


New  York 
HENRY   HOLT  AND   COMPANY 

1904 


COPYRIGHT,  1904, 

BY 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


Published  March,  1004 


IN  MEMORIAM 


DEDICATED 
TO 

<3eor0e  J3,  Colton 


863714 


CONTENTS 


Chapter  Page 

I.  PULSES          .......          i 

II.  RICHARD  THE  SECOND     .....        20 

III.  CAMILLA      .          .          .  ...       40 

IV.  MUSCADINE  STREET        .....       62 
V.  TECUMSEH  STREET          .          .          .          .          .81 

VI.  ALCOTT  AIDEE      .          .          .          .          .          .106 

VII.     THE  THIRD  LAMP 128 

VIII.  MECHANICS            .          .          .          .          .               155 

IX.     HICKS 168 

X.  MACCLESFIELD'S  BRIDGE           .          .         .          .186 

XI.  THE  BROTHERS      .          .         .          .          .          .213 

XII.  AIDEE  AND  CAMILLA       .....      230 

XIII.  IN  WHICH  HICKS  Is  BUSY        .          .          .          .247 

XIV.  IN  WHICH  HICKS  COMES  TO  His  REST      .          .267 
XV.  HENNION  AND  SHAYS      .....      277 

XVI.  CAMILLA  GOES  TO  THE  ASSEMBLY  HALL   .          .291 

XVII.  AIDEE — CAMILLA — HENNION            .          .          .      300 

XVIII.  T.  M.  SECOR — HENNION — CAMILLA         .          .320 

XIX.  CONCLUSION           .         .         .         .         .         -334 


p 


PORT  ARGENT 

CHAPTER  I 
pulses 

ORT  ARGENT  is  a  city  lying  by  a 
brown  navigable  river  that  gives  it  a 
waterway  to  the  trade  of  the  Lakes.  No 
one  knows  why  it  grew  there,  instead  of 
elsewhere  on  the  banks  of  the  Muscadine, 
with  higher  land  and  better  convenience. 
One  dim-eyed  event  leaped  on  the  back  of 
another,  and  the  city  grew. 

In  the  Senate  Chamber  where  accidents 
and  natural  laws  meet  in  Executive  Session 
or  Committee  of  the  Whole,  and  log-roll 
bills,  there  are  no  "  press  galleries,"  nor  any 
that  are  "  open  to  the  public."  Inferences 
have  been  drawn  concerning  its  submerged 
politics,  stakes  laid  on  its  issues,  and  lobby 
ing  attempted.  What  are  its  parties,  its 


2  Pulses 

sub-committees?  Does  an  administrative 
'  providence  ever  veto  its  bills,  or  effect 
ively  pardon  the  transgressors  of  any 
statute  ? 

Fifty  years  ago  the  Honourable  Henry 
Champney  expected  that  the  acres  back  of 
his  large  square  house,  on  Lower  Bank 
Street  by  the  river,  would  grow  in  value,  and 
that  their  growing  values  would  maintain, 
or  help  to  maintain,  his  position  in  the  com 
munity,  and  show  the  over-powers  to  favour 
integrity  and  Whig  principles.  But  the  city 
grew  eastward  instead  into  the  half-cleared 
forest,  and  the  sons  of  small  farmers  in  that 
direction  are  now  the  wealthy  citizens. 
The  increment  of  the  small  farmers  and 
the  decrement  of  Henry  Champney  are 
called  by  social  speculators  "  unearned,"  im 
plying  that  this  kind  of  attempt  to  lobby  a 
session  of  accidents  and  natural  laws  is,  in 
general,  futile. 

Still,  the  acres  are  mainly  built  over.  The 
Champney  house  stands  back  of  a  generous 


Pulses  3 

lawn  with  accurate  paths.  Trolley  cars  pass 
the  front  edge  of  the  lawn.  Beyond  the 
street  and  the  trolleys  and  sidewalks  comes 
the  bluff.  Under  the  bluff  is  the  tumult  of 
the  P.  and  N.  freight-yards.  But  people  in 
Port  Argent  have  forgotten  what  Whig 
principles  were  composed  of. 

There  in  his  square-cupolaed  house,  some 
years  ago,  lived  Henry  Champney  with  his 
sister,  Miss  Eunice,  and  his  daughter,  Ca 
milla.  Camilla  was  born  to  him  in  his  middle 
life,  and  through  her  eyes  he  was  beginning, 
late  in  his  old  age,  to  look  curiously  at  the 
affairs  of  a  new  generation. 

Wave  after  wave  these  generations  follow 
each  other.  The  forces  of  Champney's  gen 
eration  were  mainly  spent,  its  noisy  questions 
and  answers  subsiding.  It  pleased  him  that 
he  was  able  to  take  interest  in  the  breakers 
that  rolled  over  their  retreat.  He  wondered 
at  the  growth  of  Port  Argent. 

The  growth  of  Port  Argent  had  the  marks 
of  that  irregular  and  corrupt  legislation  of 


Pulses 


destiny.  It  had  not  grown  like  an  architect- 
builded  house,  according  to  orderly  plans. 
If  some  thoughtful  observer  had  come  to 
it  once  every  decade  of  its  seventy  years,  it 
might  have  seemed  to  his  mind  not  so  much 
a  mechanic  result  of  men's  labours  as  some 
thing  living  and  personal,  a  creature  with 
blood  flowing  daily  through  arteries  and 
veins  (trolley  cars  being  devices  to  assist  the 
flow),  with  brains  working  in  a  thousand 
cells,  and  a  heart  beating  foolish  emotions. 
He  would  note  at  one  decade  how  it  had 
thrown  bridges  across  the  river,  steeples  and 
elevator-buildings  into  the  air,  with  sudden 
throbs  of  energy;  had  gathered  a  bundle  of 
railroads  and  a  row  of  factories  under  one 
arm,  and  was  imitating  speech  through  a 
half-articulate  daily  press ;  at  another  decade, 
it  would  seem  to  have  slept;  at  another,  it 
had  run  asphalt  pavements  out  into  the  coun 
try,  after  whose  enticing  the  houses  had  not 
followed,  and  along  its  busiest  streets  were 
hollow,  weed-grown  lots.  On  the  whole, 


Pulses 


Port  Argent  would  seem  masculine  rather 
than  feminine,  reckless,  knowing  not  form  or 
order,  given  to  growing  pains,  boyish  no 
tions,  ungainly  gestures,  changes  of  energy 
and  sloth,  high  hope  and  sudden  moodi- 
ness. 

The  thoughtful  observer  of  decades,  see 
ing  these  signs  of  eccentric  character,  would 
feel  curious  to  understand  it  from  within,  to 
enter  its  streets,  offices,  and  homes,  to  ques 
tion  and  listen,  to  watch  the  civic  heart  beat 
and  brain  conceive. 

One  April  afternoon,  some  decades  ago, 
such  an  observer  happened  by  and  found 
gangs  of  men  tearing  up  Lower  Bank 
Street. 

Lower  Bank  Street  was  higher  than  Bank 
Street  proper,  but  it  was  down  the  river,  and 
in  Port  Argent  people  seldom  cared  whether 
anything  fitted  anything  else. 

Bank  Street  proper  was  the  main  business 
street  beside  the  river.  Fifty  years  before, 
in  forecasting  the  future  city,  one  would  have 


Pulses 


pictured  Lower  Bank  Street  as  an  avenue 
where  wealth  and  dignity  would  take  its 
pleasure ;  so  had  Henry  Champney  pictured 
it  at  that  time;  but  the  improvident  for 
eigner  lived  along  it  largely,  and  pos 
sessed  Port  Argent's  one  prospect,  the 
brown-flowing  river  with  its  ships.  Most  of 
the  buildings  were  small  houses  or  tene 
ments.  There  was  one  stately  line  of  square 
old  mansions,  a  block  or  two  long  and  begin 
ning  with  the  Champney  place. 

A  worn-out,  puddle-holding  Macadam 
roadbed  had  lain  in  the  street  since  the 
memory  of  most  men.  It  had  occurred  to  a 
railroad  to  come  into  the  city  from  the 
north,  peg  a  station  to  the  river  bank,  and 
persuade  the  city  to  pave  its  approaches,  and 
when  the  observer  of  decades  asked  a  citizen 
on  the  sidewalk:  "Why,  before  this  long, 
grey  station  and  freight-yards  here  of  the 
Peninsular  and  Northern  Railroad  are  these 
piles  of  paving  brick,  this  sudden  bustle  on 
Lower  Bank  Street?  "  he  was  told:  "  It's  a 


Pulses  7 

deal  between  Marve  Wood  and  the  P.  and 
N.  He  was  going  to  make  them  come  into 
the  Union  Station,  but  they  fixed  him,  I 
guess." 

"Fixed  him ?" 

"  Oh,  they're  a  happy  family  now." 

The  citizens  of  Port  Argent  held  singular 
language. 

"Who  is  Marve  Wood?" 

"  He's — there  he  is  over  there." 

"  Talking  to  the  young  man  with  the  note 
book  and  papers?  " 

"Yes.  That's  Dick  Hennion,  engineer 
and  contractor." 

"  And  this  Wood — is  he  an  engineer  and 
contractor  ?  " 

"  No — well,  yes.  He  contracts  with  him 
self  and  engineers  the  rest  of  us." 

The  observer  of  decades  moved  on, 
thoughtfully  to  observe  other  phases  of  the 
city,  its  markets,  churches,  charities,  chil 
dren  pouring  out  of  school,  its  pleasures  at 
theatre,  fair-grounds,  and  Outing  Club. 


8  Pulses 


The  young  man  with  the  notebook  stood 
on  the  curb,  writing  in  it  with  a  pencil.  He 
was  large,  lean,  sinewy,  broad-shouldered, 
brown-haired,  grey-eyed,  short-moustached, 
with  features  bony  and  straight.  He  pro 
duced  the  effect  of  impassiveness,  steadiness, 
something  concentrated  and  consistent  in  the 
midst  of  the  bustle.  Workmen  slouched  and 
hurried  to  and  fro  about  him,  unnoticed. 
There  was  the  mingled  click  of  shovel  and 
bar  and  trowel,  thud  of  rammer,  and  harsh 
voices  of  foremen.  The  elderly  "  Marve 
Wood,"  stood  beside  him — thick-set,  with  a 
grey  beard  of  the  cut  once  typical  throughout 
the  Northern  States,  which  gave  to  the  faces 
that  shape  as  of  a  blunt  spade,  and  left  the 
lips  clean-shaven.  He  had  a  comfortable 
girth,  a  straight,  thin-lipped  mouth,  a  certain 
mellow  Yankeeism  of  expression,  and  wore 
a  straw  hat  and  a  black  alpaca  coat. 

Hennion  tore  a  leaf  from  the  notebook, 
and  beckoned  the  head  foreman,  a  huge, 
black-moustached  Irishman. 


Pulses  9 

"  Here,  Kennedy,  if  any  of  these  men  ask 
for  jobs  to-morrow,  set  them  to  work." 

The  nearer  workmen  looked  curiously  to 
ward'  the  paper  which  Kennedy  tucked  in  his 
vest  pocket.  Hennion  and  Wood  turned 
away  to  the  city.  The  sidewalk  grew  more 
crowded  as  they  came  to  Upper  Bank  Street, 
where  the  statue  of  a  Civil- War  general 
struck  a  gallant  attitude  on  a  pedestal.  He 
appeared  to  be  facing  his  country's  enemies 
with  determination,  but  time  and  weather 
had  given  the  face  a  slight  touch  of  disap 
pointment,  as  if  he  found  no  enemies  worth 
while  in  sight,  nothing  but  the  P.  and  N. 
station  and  the  workmen  tearing  up  Lower 
Bank  Street. 

Henry  Champney  stood  at  his  tall  library 
window,  gazing  out,  and  saw  Hennion  and 
Wood  go  up  the  street.  "  Dick  must  have  a 
hundred  men  out  there,"  he  said. 

"Has  he?"  Camilla  looked  up  from  her 
book. 

"  Ha !     Concentration  was  the  military 


I  o  Pulses 


principle  of  Napoleon/'  Champney  went  on. 
"  Our  energetic  friend,  Dick,  is,  in  his  own 
way,  I  should  say,  Napoleonic  in  action." 

Camilla  came  to  the  window  and  took  her 
father's  arm,  and  stood  leaning  her  head 
against  his  large  bowed  shoulder.  She  did 
not  seem  inclined  to  concentrate  her  thoughts 
on  the  scene  in  front  o-f  the  P.  and  N.  sta 
tion,  or  the  Napoleonic  actions  of  "  Dick," 
but  looked  away  at  the  sunlight  shimmering 
in  the  thin  young  maple  leaves,  at  the  hur 
rying,  glinting  river,  at  the  filmy  clouds 
floating  in  the  perfect  blue.  The  lower  edges 
of  this  perfect  sky  were  a  bit  stained  with  the 
reek  of  the  factory  chimneys  across  the  river ; 
and  the  river,  when  you  came  to  consider  it, 
was  muddy  beyond  all  reason,  and  thronged 
with  impetuous  tugboats.  The  factory  chim 
neys  and  tugboats  were  energetic,  too,  con 
centrated  and  Napoleonic  in  action.  The 
tugboats  had  no  poise  or  repose,  but  the  fac 
tory  chimneys  had  both.  Their  fiery  ener 
gies  had  solid  bases,  and  the  powers  within 


Pulses  1 1 

them  did  not  carry  them  away.  There  are 
men,  as  well  as  steam  engines,  whose  ener 
gies  carry  them  bodily,  and  there  are  others 
who  are  equally  energetic  from  a  fixed 
basis,  and  the  difference  is  important — im 
portant  to  the  observer  of  the  signs  of  the 
times;  possibly  even  important  to  Camilla. 

Camilla's  thoughts  had  no  bearing  on  fac 
tories  and  tugboats.  They  were  more  like 
the  filmy  clouds  floating  in  the  blue,  beyond 
the  stain  of  the  spouting  chimneys,  and  if 
darkened  at  all  it  was  probably  only  as  sunny 
clouds  are  sometimes  darkened  mysteriously 
by  the  shadows  of  themselves. 

Hennion  and  Wood  entered  the  swing- 
door  of  a  business  block,  mounted  a  flight  of 
stairs  to  an  office  where  "  Marvin  Wood  " 
was  gilded  on  the  ground  glass  of  the  door. 
The  room  was  large,  and  contained  a  desk 
and  an  extraordinary  number  of  comfortable 
chairs.  A  typewriter  clicked  in  the  next 
room.  They  lit  cigars  and  sat  down  before 
the  open  window.  The  street  outside  was 


1 2  Pulses 

full  of  noises.  The  windows  of  the  office 
building  opposite  were  open. 

"Those  were  Freiburger's  men,  you  say?" 
remarked  Hennion. 

"Whole  batch.  It's  Freiburger's  want 
ing  to  get  on  the  Council,  and  his  boys  are 
bothering  him  already  for  '  shobs.*  Oh — 
well—he's  all  right." 

"  He  can  get  on  the  City  Hall  flagstaff  and 
wave  himself  for  a  starry  banner  if  he  wants 
to." 

Wood  chuckled  appreciatively  at  the 
image  of  Freiburger  in  that  function. 

"  But  you'd  better  tell  Freiburger,"  con 
tinued  Hennion,  "  that  I  won't  stand  any 
deadheads." 

"  Shan't  tell  him  a  thing,  Dick,  not  a 
thing." 

Wood  turned  shrewd  grey  eyes  on  the 
young  man,  and  smiled  away  the  shortness 
of  his  answer.  The  eyes  were  full  of 
humour  and  liking  for  the  man  beside  him, 
and  bordered  on  a  network  of  wrinkles. 


Pulses  1 3 


"  Supposing  you  feel  like  firing  some  of 
his  men,  you'd  better  go  and  see  him,"  he 
added. 

"  All  right,  I'll  do  that." 

"  And  take  your  time,  of  course/'  said 
Wood.  "  Hang  on  till  you're  both  satisfied. 
He's  peaceful,  only  if  you  scare  him  to 
death,  he  might  feel  injured." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  to  oblige  him " 

"  That's  it.  Talk  to  him  that  way.  Fire 
'em,  of  course,  but — you'd  better  make  it 
all  right  with  Freiburger.  A  man  that 
rides  in  a  cross-country  schooner,  sometimes 
he  has  to  join  the  shoving." 

"  That's  all  right." 

Hennion  smoked  in  silence  a  few  moments, 
then  took  his  cigar  out  and  added,  "  I  see." 

"  I  never  knew  a  man  that  made  a  living 
by  looking  up  rows  for  himself,"  said  Wood, 
wrinkling  his  eyes  thoughtfully  at  the  coils 
of  smoke,  "  except  one,  and  that  wasn't  what 
you'd  call  a  comfortable  living.  It  was  a 
man  named  Johnson,  in  St.  Joseph,  some- 


1 4  Pulses 


where  about  '60.  He  started  in  to  fight  the 
landlord  of  the  Morton  House  for  his  bill, 
till  the  landlord  was  full  of  knots,  and  his 
features  painful,  and  his  secretest  rheuma 
tism  woke  up,  and  his  interest  in  his  bill  was 
dead.  That  was  all  right,  supposing  John 
son  didn't  really  have  the  price.  I  guess,  like 
enough,  he  hadn't.  But  he  went  round  town 
then  making  the  same  arrangement  with 
other  folks,  a  lawyer  and  a  liveryman  and 
others.  Sometimes  he  had  to  fight,  some 
times  he  didn't,  but  after  a  while  somebody 
drew  a  gun  on  him,  and  St.  Joseph  buried 
him  with  a  sigh.  He  never  was  really 
comfortable." 

Wood  wrinkled  his  eyes,  and  followed  the 
twists  and  capers  of  the  smoke  with  a  close 
interest.  Hennion  sighted  over  the  points 
of  his  shoes  at  an  upper  window  opposite, 
where  three  men  were  arguing  excitedly  in 
what  appeared  dumb-show. 

"  Does  the  parable  mean  something, 
particularly  St.  Joseph's  sigh  ?  " 


Pulses 


"  The  parable,"  said  Wood,  "  particularly 
St.  Joseph's  sigh.  Yes.  It  means,  if  the 
peaceable  man  comes  out  better  'n  the  war 
like,  it's  because  folks  get  so  tired  of  the  war 
like." 

"  Oh ! " 

"  Now,  the  Preacher,  up  on  Seton 
Avenue " 

"Aidee?" 

"  Yes.  He's  terrible  warlike.  He  says 
I'm  a  thief.  I  say  he's  a  fine  man — fine  man. 
He  keeps  on  saying  it.  I  keep  on  saying  it. 
Folks  got  kind  of  tired  of  him  a  while  ago. 
He  says  I'm  a  disease,  now.  Well — maybe 
so.  Then  I  guess  this  world's  got  me 
chronic.  Chap  comes  along  with  a  patent 
pill,  and  a  new  porous  plaster,  and  claims 
his  plaster  has  the  holes  arranged  in  tri 
angles,  instead  of  squares  like  all  previous 
plasters;  he  has  an  air  of  candid  discovery; 
he  says,  '  Bless  my  soul !  Your  system's 
out  of  order.'  Sounds  interesting  once  in 
a  while.  And  then  this  world  gets  so 


1 6  Pulses 


tired  of  him ;    says,  '  I've  had  a  belly-ache 
eleven  thousand  years.     I  wish  to  God  you 
wouldn't  keep  giving  it  new  names.'     Well, 
— a  couple  of  years  ago  the  Chronicle  was 
publishing  Aidee's  speeches  on  Civic  some 
thing  or  other  every  week.     Aidee  used  to 
shoot  straight  but  scattering  at  that  time. 
He'd  got  too  much  responsibility  for  the 
details  of  the  millennium.     Why,  when  you 
come  right  down  to  it,  Dick,  Aidee's  got  as 
sky-high  an  opinion  of  himself  as  anybody  I 
know.    That's  natural  enough,  why,  yes.    If 
I  could  stand  up  like  him,  and  convert  my 
self  into  a  six-inch  pipe  of  natural  gas  on 
the  blaze,  I'd  have  the  same.     Certain,   I 
would.     But,  there  ain't  any  real  democracy 
in  him.      He  says  he'd   sit  in   the  gutter 
with  any  man.     Guess  likely  he  would.     I 
wouldn't.    But  would  he  and  the  other  gut 
ter-man  hitch.     Would  they  get  along  to 
gether?  No,  they  wouldn't.   Aidee's  a  loose 
comet  that  thinks  he's  the  proper  conflagra 
tion  for  boiling  potatoes.   Go  on  now !   He's 


Pulses 


17 


too  warlike.  Him  and  his  Independent  Re 
form  and  his  Assembly  —  oh,  well  —  he 
wasn't  doing  any  great  harm  then.  He  ain't 
now,  either.  I  told  him  one  time,  like  this : 

"I  says,  'Fire  away  anyhow  that  suits 
you.  But,'  I  says,  '  what  makes  you  think 
you'd  like  my  job  ?  ' 

"  '  What  is  your  job?  '  says  he. 

'  Don't  know  as  I  could  describe  it/  I 
says,  and  I  was  a  little  stumped.  '  It's  not 
that  kind.  It's  complicated.' 

"  '  No,'  he  says,  '  as  you  understand  and 
work  your  job,  I  shouldn't  like  it.' 

"  '  No  more  I  shouldn't  yours.  Speaking 
of  which,'  I  says,  '  what  is  your  job? ' 

"  And  he  was  stumped  too.  He  was,  for 
a  fact. 

"  '  I  don't  know  as  I  could  describe  it. 
It's  not  that  kind,'  he  says. 

"'  Complicated?' 

"  '  Yes.' 

"  '  Well,'  I  says,  '  I  shouldn't  want  to  try 
it.  I'd  mean  all  right,  but  it  wouldn't  go.' 


1 8  Pulses 


I  says,  '  There  was  a  man  died  up  here  at 
the  city  jail  last  year,  and  Sol  Sweeney,  the 
jailor,  he  was  going  to  call  in  a  clergyman 
on  the  case  as  being  in  that  line.  But  then 
Sweeney  thinks,  "  I  can  talk  it.  I've  heard 
'em."  Well,  Sweeney's  got  an  idea  his  in 
tellectuals  are  all  right  anyhow.  Being  a 
jailor,  he  says,  he's  got  the  habit  of  medita 
tion.  So  he  starts  in.  "  Bill,  you've  been 
a  bad  lot."  "  Yep."  "  There  ain't  no  hope 
for  you,  Bill."  "No,"  says  Bill,  "there 
ain't."  "  You'll  go  to  that  there  bad  place, 
Bill."  Bill  was  some  bored,  but  he  allowed, 
"  I  guess  that's  right,"  speaking  feeble. 
"  Well,  Bill,"  says  Sweeney,  "  you  ought  to 
be  thankful  you've  got  a  place  to  go  to." 

"  A  idee  laughed, — he  did  really, — and 
after  that  he  looked  thoughtful.  Fine  man, 
Dick.  I  sized  him  up  for  the  things  he 
didn't  say.  l  Sweeney,'  I  says,  '  he  meant 
all  right,  and  he'd  got  the  general  outline  of 
it.  But  I  was  going  to  say,  if  I  tried  to  run 
your  job  for  you,  thinking  anybody  could 


Pulses  1 9 

run  it  with  his  intentions,  I'd  make  a  gone 
fool  of  myself,  sure.' 

"  Now  see  this,  Dick.  I  did  make  a  gone 
fool  of  myself,  sure.  It  wasn't  any  of  my 
business  what  he  didn't  know.  He's  been 
acting  too  reasonable  since.  That's  what  I 
wanted  to  tell  you." 

"What  for?" 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Wood  balmily,  "you 
might  run  across  him.  You  might  be  in 
terested  to  find  out  what  he's  up  to." 

After  a  few  moments  of  silence  Hennion 
dropped  his  feet  and  stood  up. 

"  All  right.  I  won't  row  with  Frei- 
burger,  but  I  don't  see  what  Aidee's  got  to 
do  with  me,"  he  said,  and  went  out,  and  up 
Bank  Street,  and  then  turned  into  Hancock, 
a  street  which  led  back  from  the  river  into 
the  residence  sections. 


CHAPTER   II 
IRfcbarD  tbe  Second 

WHEN  Hennion  reached  his  rooms 
the  sunlight  was  slanting  through 
the  maples  outside. 

He  sat  down  after  supper  by  his  windows. 
The  twilight  was  thickening  in  the  foli 
age,  the  sparrows  holding  noisy  caucuses 
there 

Hennion's  father  had  been  a  contractor 
and  engineer  before  him,  and  before  the 
great  war  had  made  the  face  of  the  nation 
more  thoughtful  with  the  knowledge  of 
what  may  happen  in  well-regulated  families. 

Once  the  sun  was  a  pillar  of  fire  and 
cloud,  the  land  of  promise  seemed  every  day 
attained,  and  the  stars  were  jubilant. 
Were  ever  such  broad  green  plains,  strong 
brown  rivers  and  blue  lakes?  There  was 
oratory  then,  and  sublime  foreheads  were 

20 


Richard  the  Second  21 

smitten  against  the  stars.  Such  oratory 
and  such  a  forehead  had  Henry  Champney, 
in  those  days.  The  subject  of  oratory  was 
the  devotion  of  the  forefathers,  the  prom 
ises  and  attainments  of  the  nation  set  forth 
in  thrilling  statistics.  A  thousand  audiences 
shuffled  and  grinned,  and  went  their  way 
to  accomplish  the  more  immediate  things 
which  the  orators  had  endeavoured  to  dec 
orate.  The  admiration  of  the  orator  and 
the  public  was  mutual.  There  was  a  differ 
ence  in  type, — and  the  submerged  industri 
alist,  who  worked  with  odd  expedients,  who 
jested  with  his  lips,  and  toiled  terribly  with 
brain  and  hand,  admired  the  difference. 

The  elder  Hennion  did  not  care  about 
"  the  destinies  of  the  nation."  He  dredged 
the  channel  of  that  brown  river,  the  Musca 
dine,  drove  the  piles  that  held  the  docks  of 
Port  Argent,  and  dug  the  east  section  of  the 
Interstate  Canal.  The  war  came,  and  some 
one  appointed  him  to  something  connected 
with  the  transportation  of  commissary.  He 


22  Richard  the  Second 

could  not  escape  the  habit  of  seeing  that 
things  did  what  they  were  supposed  to  do. 
Hennion's  supplies  were  apt  to  reach  the 
Army  of  the  Cumberland  regularly  and  on 
scheduled  time,  it  would  be  hard  to  tell  why. 

He  built  the  Maple  Street  Bridge,  and  the 
Chickering  Valley  Railroad.  A  prairie 
town  was  named  after  him,  which  might 
become  a  stately  city,  and  did  not.  Some 
one  in  the  East,  speaking  technically, 
"  wrecked  "  the  Chickering  Valley  Railroad 
for  private  reasons,  rendered  the  stock  of  it 
for  the  time  as  waste  winter  leaves.  The 
elder  Hennion  died  poor  and  philosophical. 

"  Never  mind,  Dick.  He  [the  wrecker] , 
he'd  have  gone  to  hell  anyhow.  That's  a 
cheerful  thought.  When  old  Harvey  Ester- 
brook  died,  he  told  his  boys  he  hoped  they'd 
have  as  much  fun  spending  his  money  as  he 
did  making  it,  but  they  didn't.  They  wor 
ried  it  away.  They'd  've  disappointed  him 
there,  only  he  was  dead.  It's  mighty  good 
luck  to  be  young,  and  I  wish  I  had  your 


Richard  the  Second 


23 


luck.     But  I've  had  a  good  time."     Such 
was  "  Rick  "  Hennion's  philosophy. 

Young  Hennion  had  been  his  father's 
close  companion  those  last  seven  years,  and 
learned  of  him  the  mechanics  of  engineering 
and  the  ways  of  business,  how  men  talked 
and  what  they  meant  by  it.  He  stepped 
into  the  inheritance  of  a  known  name  and  a 
wide  acquaintance.  He  knew  everyone  on 
Bank  Street,  merchants  and  lawyers,  rail 
road  men  up  and  down  the  State,  agents  and 
promoters,  men  in  grain  and  lumber,  iron 
and  oil,  and  moreover  some  thousand  or 
more  men  who  handled  pick  and  shovel,  saw 
and  trowel.  He  recognised  faces  brown 
with  earth-dust,  black  with  coal,  white  with 
the  dust  of  grain.  Men  of  one  class 
offered  him  contracts,  somewhat  small  at 
first;  men  of  another  class  seemed  to  look 
to  him  as  naturally  for  jobs;  his  life 
stretched  before  him  a  sweep  of  fertile  coun 
try.  Among  the  friendliest  hands  held  out 
to  him  were  Marve  Wood's. 


24  Richard  the  Second 

Wood  came  to  Port  Argent  after  the  War, 
a  man  in  middle  life,  but  he  seemed  to  have 
been  there  before.  He  seemed  to  have  drifted 
much  about  the  continent.  It  was  a  com 
mon  type  in  Port  Argent,  so  many  citizens, 
one  found,  had  drifted  in  their  time.  He 
had  a  kind  of  land  agency  at  one  time,  and 
an  office  on  Hancock  Street,  and  presently 
became  one  of  those  personages  little  noted 
by  a  public  looking  to  oratory,  but  certainly 
members  of  party  committees,  sometimes 
holders  of  minor  offices.  Such  a  man's 
power,  if  it  grows,  has  a  reason  to  account 
for  the  growth,  a  process  of  selecting  the 
man  most  fitted  to  perform  a  function.  If 
one  wished  to  know  anything  intimate  about 
the  city,  what  was  doing,  or  about  to  be 
done,  or  how  the  Council  would  vote,  or 
any  one  thread  in  the  tangled  interests  of 
scores  of  men,  Marve  Wood  appeared  to 
have  this  information.  His  opinion  was 
better  —  at  least  better  informed  —  than 
most  opinions.  For  some  reason  it  was 


Richard  the  Second  25 

difficult    not   to    be    on   good    terms    with 
him. 

Port  Argent  concluded  one  day  that  it 
had  a  "  boss."  It  was  suggested  in  a  morn 
ing  paper,  and  people  talked  of  it  on  the 
street.  Port  Argent  was  interested,  on  the 
whole  pleased.  It  sounded  metropolitan. 
Someone  said,  "  We're  a  humming  town." 

Real  estate  at  auction  went  a  shade  higher 
that  morning,  as  at  the  announcement  of  a 
new  hotel  or  theatre  contracted  for.  The 
hardware  man  from  the  corner  of  Hancock 
Street  said: 

"  Wood,  I  hear  you're  a  boss." 

"  That's  it.  Fellow  told  me  so  this  morn 
ing.  I  threw  him  out  of  the  window  and 
asked  him  how  to  spell  it.  Been  figuring  on 
that  ever  since." 

"  Well,  I've  been  reading  the  New  York 
papers,  and  they  do  say  down  there  it  ought 
to  be  spelled  with  a  brick." 

"Well— now— I  learned  to  spell  that  way, 
but  the  teacher  used  a  shingle  mostly. 


26  Richard  the  Second 

'  Marvin  Wood,  spell  buzzard,'  says  he,  and 
splits  his  shingle  on  my  head  for  dropping 
a  '  z.'  Yes,  sir,  that  was  fifty  years  ago,  and 
now  every  time  I  write  a  tough  word  I  duck 
my  head  to  dodge  the  shingle,  and  spell  it 
wrong.  I  don't  know.  Maybe  a  brick 
would  've  been  better.  Want  anything  in 
particular  ?  " 

The  hardware  man  wanted  to  know  about 
the  new  Third-ward  schoolhouse,  and  when 
and  where  to  put  in  a  bid  for  supplying  it 
twelve  dozen  indestructible  desks. 

The  sparrows  in  the  dark  maples  in  front 
of  Hennion's  windows  were  quiet,  because 
the  night  was  come,  wherein  no  sparrow 
may  quarrel.  The  issues  of  their  common 
wealth  were  settled  by  being  forgotten. 
Doubtless,  many  a  sparrow  would  keep  the 
perch  he  had  pre-empted  unrighteously,  and 
in  the  morning  the  issues  be  different,  and 
the  victims  find  their  neighbours  overnight 
had  tired  of  their  wrongs.  Even  one's 


Richard  the  Second  27 

neighbours'  sins  are  not  interesting  forever, 
let  alone  their  wrongs. 

Hennion  dressed  and  went  out,  and  pres 
ently  was  walking  on  Lower  Bank  Street 
past  the  broken-up  street  and  the  piles  of 
paving  brick. 

The  Champney  house  was  one  of  those 
houses  that  cannot  do  otherwise  than  contain 
four  rooms  to  the  floor,  each  square,  high- 
ceilinged,  and  furnished  more  with  an  eye  to 
the  squareness  and  high  ceilings  than  to  the 
people  who  might  come  to  live  in  it,  not  so 
angled  and  elevated.  Hennion  was  not  im 
pressionable,  but  it  seemed  to  him  dimly 
that  Camilla  ought  to  sit  on  a  different  kind 
of  chair.  The  house  was  heavy  with  the 
spirit  of  another  generation,  as  if  effectual 
life  in  it  had  stopped  short  years  before. 
The  furniture  in  the  parlour  had  an  air  of 
conscious  worth;  the  curtains  hung  rem- 
iniscently;  Webster,  Clay,  and  Quincy 
Adams  occupied  gilded  frames  and  showed 
star-smitten  foreheads. 


28  Richard  the  Second 

Through  the  open  door  across  the  hall 
Hennion  could  see  the  big  white  head  of 
Henry  Champney  in  the  lamplight,  and 
knew  where  Miss  Eunice  sat  primly  with 
her  knitting  and  gold-rimmed  glasses. 

The  rush  of  the  day's  work  was  still  ring 
ing  in  his  mind,  the  sense  of  the  flexibleness 
of  men  and  events,  the  absence  of  all  form 
among  them,  or  attitude,  or  repose.  The 
Champney  house  with  its  inmates,  except 
Camilla,  seemed  to  have  petrified  at  its  point 
of  greatest  dignity. 

Camilla  said :  "  You  haven't  heard  a  word 
I've  been  saying,  and  it's  important !  " 

Camilla  was  the  second  generation  to 
possess  the  gift  of  feeling  the  importance  of 
the  immediate  occasion.  Fair  maids  are  com 
mon  enough,  and  yet  most  of  them  are  ex 
traordinary.  But  Camilla  had  the  shining 
eyes,  and  lift  of  thick  dark  hair  away  from 
the  forehead,  that  to  elderly  people  recalled 
Henry  Champney  of  long  ago.  She  had  the 
same  intensity  and  readiness  of  belief.  The 


Richard  the  Second  29 

manner  in  which  that  man  of  distinction 
would  wrap  small  issues  in  the  flag  of  the 
Republic,  and  identify  a  notion  of  his  own 
with  a  principle  of  the  Constitution,  used 
to  astonish  even  the  constituency  which 
voted  him  a  giant.  She  seemed  to  Hennion 
not  less  apart  from  the  street  than  Henry 
Champney,  Miss  Eunice,  and  their  antiqui 
ties.  She  belonged  to  a  set  of  associations 
that  should  not  be  mixed  up  with  the  street. 
In  the  street,  in  the  clear  light  and  grey 
dust,  men  and  ideas  were  shaped  to  their 
uses.  But  Camilla's  presence  was  to  him  a 
kind  of  vestal  college.  At  least,  it  was  the 
only  presence  that  ever  suggested  to  his 
mind  things  of  that  nature,  symbols  and 
sacred  fires,  and  half-seen  visions  through 
drifting  smoke. 

He  was  contented  now  to  wait  for  the 
revelation. 

"  Have  you  lots  of  influence  really?  "  she 
said.  "  Isn't  it  fine  !  I  want  you  to  see  Mr. 
Aidee.  He's  coming  here  to-night.'* 


30  Richard  the  Second 

The  revelation  was  unpleasant.  He  felt 
his  latent  dislike  for  Aidee  grow  suddenly 
direct.  When  it  came  to  introducing  the  in 
congruities  of  the  dusty  street  and  blatant 
platform  to  the  place  where  his  few  silent 
ideals  lay  glimmering;  bringing  Camilla  to 
march  in  the  procession  where  chants  were 
played  on  fife  and  drum,  and  the  Beatitudes 
painted  on  the  transparencies,  so  to  speak — 
it  was  unpleasant. 

"  I'd  rather  not  see  him  here." 

"  But  he's  coming !  " 

"  All  right.    I  shan't  run  away." 

"  And  he  has  asked  my  father " 

Hennion  disliked  Aidee  to  the  point  of 
assassination. 

"  Oh,  Camilla !  "  he  broke  in,  and  then 
laughed.  "  Did  he  ask  Miss  Eunice  to  come 
in,  too?" 

The  prospect  had  its  humours — the  guile- 
lessness  of  the  solemn  preparation  to  sweep 
him  into  the  fold  with  ceremony,  with  peals 
of  Champney  oratory  and  the  calamitous 


Richard  the  Second  31 

approval  of  Miss  Eunice.  It  might  turn  out 
a  joke,  and  Camilla  might  be  persuaded  to 
see  the  joke.  She  sometimes  did;  that  is, 
she  sometimes  hovered  over  the  comprehen 
sion  of  a  joke,  as  a  bright,  peculiar  seraph 
might  hover  over  some  muddy  absurdity 
jogging  along  the  highway  of  this  world, 
but  she  had  so  many  other  emotions  to  take 
care  of,  they  shed  such  prismatic  colours 
around  her,  that  her  humour  could  not 
always  be  depended  on. 

The  door-bell  rang,  and  Aidee  came  in. 
Hennion  felt  nearly  benevolent,  as  he  shook 
hands  and  towered  over  him.  Aidee  was 
slight,  black-haired,  black-eyed,  smooth 
faced,  and  pale.  Miss  Eunice  entered.  She 
had  the  air  of  condemning  the  monstrous 
world  for  its  rotundity  and  reckless  orbit. 
Mr.  Champney's  white  head  and  sunken 
shoulders  loomed  behind  her.  The  five  sat 
about  the  centre-table.  A  chandelier  glit 
tered  overhead. 

Hennion   felt   amused   and   interested   in 


32  Richard  the  Second 

the  scene.  Mr.  Champney's  big  white  head 
was  bowed  over  and  his  eyes  glowed  under 
shaggy  brows;  Camilla  was  breathless 
and  bright  with  interest;  Miss  Eunice  had 
her  gold-rimmed  glasses  fixed  in  qualified 
approval  on  Aidee,  who  was  not  rotund, 
though  his  orbit  seemed  to  be  growing  reck 
less.  He  was  on  his  feet,  pacing  the  floor 
and  talking  rapidly.  It  occurred  to  Hennion 
that  Aidee  was  a  peculiar  man,  and  at  that 
moment  making  a  masterful  speech.  He 
swept  together  at  first  a  number  of  general 
ideas  which  did  not  interest  Hennion,  who 
looked,  in  fact,  at  Camilla.  Aidee  drew 
nearer  in  particulars.  Hennion  felt  himself 
caught  in  the  centre  of  a  narrowing  circle 
of  propositions.  He  ceased  to  be  amused. 
It  was  interesting,  but  disagreeable.  He  ap 
preciated  the  skill  of  the  performance,  and 
returned  to  dislike  the  performer,  who 
leaned  forward  now,  with  his  hands  on  the 
table. 

"  Mr.  Hennion,  you  don't  belong  to  that 


Richard  the  Second  33 

class  of  men  or  that  class  of  ideas.  You 
are  doing  good  work  for  this  city  in  your 
profession.  You  put  your  right  hand  to  it. 
We  share  its  benefits.  But  your  left  hand 
is  mixed  up  with  something  that  is  not  up 
building,  but  a  sapping  of  foundations. 
Here  the  hopes  of  our  fathers  are  more  than 
fulfilled,  and  here  they  are  bitterly  disap 
pointed.  How  do  you  come  to  have  a  share 
— in  both  of  these  results  ?  " 

Mr.  Champney  lifted  his  brows,  appreci 
ating  the  rhetoric.  Camilla's  face  was 
flushed  with  excitement.  How  glorious! 
And  now,  Dick ! 

Hennion  resented  the  situation.  His 
length  and  impassiveness  helped  him,  so 
that  he  seemed  to  be  holding  it  easily,  but 
he  felt  like  nothing  of  that  kind.  Talking 
for  exhibition,  or  approval,  was  a  thing  his 
soul  abhorred  in  himself,  and  observed  but 
curiously  in  other  men.  He  felt  that  Ca 
milla  expected  him  to  talk  with  elevation, 
from  the  standpoint  of  a  noble  sinner  now 


34  Richard  the  Second 

nobly  repentant,  some  such  florid  circus  per 
formance.  He  felt  drawn  in  obstinacy  to 
mark  out  his  position  with  matter-of-fact 
candour.  Aidee's  rhetoric  only  emphasised 
what  seemed  to  Hennion  a  kind  of  unreal, 
gaudy  emotionalism. 

"  I  am  not  in  politics,  Mr.  Aidee.  I  meet 
with  it  as  an  incident  to  business.  I  some 
times  do  engineering  for  the  city.  I  am  sup 
posed  to  have  a  certain  amount  in  prefer 
ence  on  contracts,  and  to  give  a  certain 
amount  of  preference  on  jobs  to  workmen 
your  city  politicians  send,  provided  they're 
good  workmen.  Maybe  when  they  vote 
they  understand  themselves  to  be  voting  for 
their  jobs.  They're  partly  mistaken.  I  con 
tract  with  them  to  suit  my  business  interests, 
but  I  never  canvass.  Probably  the  ward 
leaders  do.  I  suppose  there's  a  point  in  all 
this  affair.  I'd  rather  come  to  it,  if  you 
don't  mind.  You  want  me  to  do  personal 
wire-pulling,  which  I  never  do  and  don't 
like,  in  order  to  down  certain  men  I  am 


Richard  the  Second  35 

under  obligations  to,  which  doesn't  seem 
honourable,  and  against  my  business  inter 
ests,  which  doesn't  seem  reasonable." 

"Wire-pulling?     No." 

"  Why,  yes.  That's  what  you're  doing 
now,  isn't  it?  You  think  I'm  a  wire  that 
pulls  a  lot  of  other  wires.  Of  course  it's 
all  right,  if  you  like  it,  or  think  you  have  to, 
but  I  don't  like  it,  and  don't  see  that  I  have 
to." 

Aidee  hesitated. 

"  Miss  Champney " 

Hennion  was  sharp  and  angry  in  a  mo 
ment. 

"  Mr.  Aidee,  the  standards  of  my  class  are 
not  supposed  to  be  up  to  yours " 

"  Why  not  ?    Class !    I  have  no  class !  " 

"  I  don't  know  why  not.  I  don't  seem 
to  care  just  now.  But  not  everyone  even 
of  my  class  would  have  cared  to  ask 
Miss  Champney  to  oblige  them  this 
way." 

"Why  not?" 


36  Richard  the  Second 

"  Because  we  have  more  scruples  than  we 
advertise.  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  The  apology  seems  in  place,"  rumbled 
Mr.  Champney,  his  voice  vibrating  thorough 
bass. 

"  I  offer  it  to  you,  too,  sir.  The  situation 
is  forced  on  me." 

"  The  gentleman  doesn't  like  the  situa 
tion.  I  suggest  " —  Champney  heaved  his 
wide  frame  out  of  the  chair — "  that  he  be 
released  from  his  situation." 

"  Do  you  like  the  situation,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  do  not,  sir,"  with  rising  thunder.  "  I 
hope,  if  this  discussion  is  continued  here,  or 
elsewhere," — appearing  to  imply  a  prefer 
ence  for  "  elsewhere," — "  it  will  have  no 
reference  to  my  family." 

Mr.  Champney  withdrew  royally.  Miss 
Eunice  followed,  a  suspicion  of  meekness 
and  fright  in  her  manner,  her  glasses  tilted 
sideways.  Aidee  stood  still  a  moment.  Then 
he  said  quietly : 

"  I  have  made  a  mistake.     Good-night," 


Richard  the  Second  37 

and  took  his  leave.  He  looked  tired  and 
weighed  down. 

Hennion  felt  the  air  as  full  of  echoes  and 
vibrations  subsiding. 

Camilla  wept  with  her  head  on  the 
table. 

"I'm  sorry,  Milly.  It  was  a  shocking 
row." 

Camilla  felt  her  soul  in  too  great  tumult 
to  consider  either  humour  or  repentance. 

Going  past  the  piles  of  brick,  on  Lower 
Bank  Street,  Hennion  felt  like  shoving  them 
all  into  the  Muscadine,  and  Aidee  and  Wood 
after  them.  He  wanted  his* private  life  and 
work,  and  Camilla.  But  Camilla  hovered 
away  from  him,  and  would  not  be  drawn 
nearer.  She  was  a  puzzling  seraph,  and  the 
world  was  a  puzzling  world,  in  whose  alge 
bra  the  equations  were  too  apt  to  have  odd 
zeros  and  miscellaneous  infinities  dropped 
among  them  to  suit  the  taste  of  an  engineer. 
It  seemed  to  be  constructed  not  altogether 
and  solely  for  business  men  to  do  business 


38  Richard  the  Second 

in,  else  why  such  men  as  Aidee,  so  irration 
ally  forcible?  And  why  such  girls  as  Ca 
milla  to  fill  a  practical  man's  soul  with  misty 
dreams,  and  draw  him  whither  he  would 
not? 

"  Wisdom,"  says  the  man  in  the  street, 
"  is  one  of  those  things  which  do  not  come 
to  one  who  sits  down  and  waits."  There 
was  once  a  persuasion  that  wisdom  would 
come  to  nothing  else  than  just  such  leisure 
and  patient  attendance;  but  the  man  in  the 
street  has  made  his  "  hustling  "  his  philos 
ophy,  and  made  the  Copernican  discovery 
that  the  street,  and  no  longer  the  study,  nor 
yet  the  hall  of  legislature,  is  the  centre  of 
the  wheeling  system.  There  the  main  cur 
rent  runs;  elsewhere  are  eddies,  back 
waters,  odd  futilities,  and  these,  too,  fall 
into  the  current  eventually  and  pour  on. 
Life  is  governed  and  convinced  by  the  large 
repetitions  of  "  hunger  and  labour,  seed-time 
and  harvest,  love  and  death,"  and  of  these 
the  first  four  make  their  reports  in  the  street. 


Richard  the  Second  39 

Only  love  and  death  seem  to  have  their  still 
eccentric  orbits,  not  Copernican,  and  even 
the  street  is  content  to  refer  them  to  seven 
celestial  spheres  and  a  primum  mobile,  and 
say  no  more. 


CHAPTER  III 
Camilla 

SOMEONE  once  suggested  that  Ca 
milla  was  "  a  type,"  and  Miss  Eunice 
found  comfort  in  the  suggestion.  To  most 
of  her  friends  she  seemed  nothing  else 
than  Camilla,  a  term  inclusive  and  select, 
meaning  something  radiant  and  surprising, 
valuable  for  the  zest  that  came  with  her  and 
lingered  after  her  going.  They  said  that, 
if  she  had  been  born  to  masculine  destinies, 
she  would  have  been  another  Henry  Champ- 
ney,  a  Camillus  with 

'•  The  fervent  love  Camillus  bore 
His  native  land." 

In  that  case  she  would  not  have  been  Ca 
milla.    Here  speculation  paused. 

In  general  they  agreed  that  she  walked 
and   talked  harmoniously,   and  was   lovely 

and  lovable,  with  grey  eyes  and  lifted  brows, 
40 


Camilla  41 


stature  tall  and  shoulder  carried  martially, 
delicate  and  tender  curves  of  mouth  and 
throat.  Camilla  was  no  accumulation  of  de 
tails  either. 

At  any  rate,  the  world  is  not  so  old  but  a 
sweet-faced  maiden  still  makes  it  lyrical.  It 
is  a  fine  question  whether  she  is  not  more 
exhilarating  than  ever. 

Camilla  seemed  to  herself  identified  with 
her  ideas,  her  energetic  beliefs  and  sympa 
thies.  The  terms  in  which  she  made  an  at 
tempt  to  interpret  herself  came  forth  partly 
from  cloistral  studies  in  that  hive  of  swarm 
ing  energies,  a  girls'  college  in  an  old  New 
England  town,  where  ran  a  swift  river, 
much  cleaner  and  swifter  than  the  Musca 
dine.  She*  barely  remembered  when  the 
family  lived  in  the  national  capital,  and 
Henry  Champney  was  a  noted  and  quoted 
man.  She  had  but  a  dim  mental  picture  of 
an  invalid  mother,  fragile,  belaced,  and  be- 
ribboned.  Her  memories  ran  about  Port 
Argent  and  the  Muscadine,  the  Eastern 


42  Camilla 


seminary,  the  household  rule  of  Miss  Eu 
nice.  They  included  glimpses  of  her 
father's  friend,  the  elder  Hennion,  a  broad- 
shouldered  man,  who  always  had  with  him 
the  slim  youth,  Dick;  which  slim  youth  was 
marvellously  condescending,  and  once  re 
constructed  her  doll  with  wires,  so  that 
when  you  pulled  a  wire  it  would  wave 
arms  and  legs  in  the  manner  in  which  Miss 
Eunice  said  no  well-bred  little  girl  ever 
waved  her  arms  and  legs.  He  seemed  a 
beneficial  person,  this  Dick.  He  taught  her 
carpentry  and  carving.  Magical  things  he 
used  to  do  with  hammer  and  saw,  mallet 
and  chisel,  in  that  big  unfurnished  room 
over  the  mansards  of  the  Champney  house, 
so  high  up  that  one  saw  the  Muscadine 
through  the  tops  of  the  trees.  The  room 
was  unchanged  even  now.  It  was  still  Ca 
milla's  hermitage.  The  ranges  of  trunks 
were  still  there,  the  tool-chest  with  Dick's 
old  tools,  old  carvings,  drawings,  plans  of 
bridges. 


Camilla 


43 


He  was  beneficial,  but  peculiar.  He 
thought  the  Maple  Street  bridge  the  finest 
of  objects  on  the  earth.  He  did  not  care 
for  fairy  stories,  because  they  were  not 
true. 

Henry  Champney  kept  certain  blocks  of 
wood,  whereon  Camilla  at  the  age  of  twelve 
had  cut  the  semblances  of  faces,  semblances 
of  the  vaguest,  but  all  hinting  at  tragedy. 
Miss  Eunice  had  disapproved  of  that  pur 
suit. 

On  the  morning  after  Aidee's  visit  Miss 
Eunice  sat  at  the  parlour  window  knitting. 
Beyond  the  lawn  ran  Lower  Bank  Street; 
beyond  the  street  and  underneath  the  bluff 
were  the  freight-yards,  with  piles  of  black 
coal  and  brown  iron  dust,  and  a  travelling 
crane  rattling  to  and  fro,  from  ship  to  car. 
Beyond  the  yards  were  the  river  and  the  P. 
and  N.  railroad  bridge;  beyond  the  river  the 
dark  chimneys  of  factories,  with  long  roofs, 
and  black  smoke  streaming  in  the  sky,  and 
the  brick  and  wood  tenements  of  East  Ar- 


44  Camilla 


gent.  Beyond  these,  hidden  but  influential, 
because  one  knew  they  were  there,  lay  the 
rank,  unsightly  suburbs;  beyond  the  sub 
urbs,  a  flat,  prosperous  country  of  fields  and 
woods,  farm  buildings,  highways,  and 
trestle  pyramids  of  the  oil  wells. 

Camilla  was  reading,  with  one  hand 
plunged  in  her  hair.  The  river  and  facto 
ries  had  lain  some  hours  under  the  shadow 
of  Miss  Eunice's  disapproval.  She  turned 
the  shadow  on  Camilla,  and  remonstrated. 
Camilla  came  out  of  her  absorption  slowly. 
The  remonstrance  roused  her  to  reminis 
cence. 

"  We  used  to  keep  our  heads  in  wet  tow 
els  at  college,"  she  said. 

Miss  Eunice  laid  down  her  knitting.  Ca 
milla  went  on  thoughtfully: 

"  Do  you  know,  Aunty,  a  wet  towel  is  a 
good  thing?  " 

Miss  Eunice  sighed.  Camilla  lingered 
over  her  reminiscences.  After  a  time  she 
picked  up  the  books  that  lay  about  her,  laid 


Camilla  45 


them  on  her  lap,  and  began  running  through 
the  titlepages. 

"They're  Mr.  Aidee's.  Listen!  '  The 
Problems  of  the  Poor/  '  The  Civic  Disease/ 
'  If  Christ  Came  to  Chicago/  " 

"  Mr.  Aidee  lent  you  such  books! " 

"  Yes,  but  you  need  a  wet  towel  with 
them.  '  Socialism  and  Anarchy/  '  The 
Inner  Republic.'  Oh!  Why!  How  fine!" 

She  had  slipped  beyond  the  titlepage  of  a 
fat  grey  volume.  She  was  sunk  fathoms 
deep,  and  soaked  in  a  new  impression, 
nested  and  covered  and  lost  to  conversation. 
Miss  Eunice  returned  to  her  knitting,  and 
spread  gloom  about  her  in  a  circle. 

It  is  one  of  the  penalties  of  stirring  times 
that  they  open  such  gulfs  between  the  gen 
erations.  If  the  elders  have  been  unplastic, 
the  young  have  not  taken  it  intimately  to 
themselves  that  life  was  as  keen  to  their 
predecessors  as  it  is  to  them,  that  the  present 
is  not  all  the  purport  of  the  past.  Our 
fathers  did  not  live  merely  in  order  that  we 


46  Camilla 


might  live,  but  were  worth  something  to 
themselves.  Miss  Eunice  had  had  her  heart 
beats  and  flushed  cheeks,  no  matter  at  this 
late  day  when  or  how.  No  matter  what  her 
romance  was.  It  was  a  story  of  few  events 
or  peculiarities.  She  had  grown  somewhat 
over-rigid  with  time.  That  her  melancholy 
— if  melancholy  it  should  be  called,  a  certain 
dry  severity — that  it  gave  most  people  a 
slight  impression  of  comedy,  was  perhaps 
one  of  the  tragic  elements  in  it.  As  to  that 
long-past  phenomenon  of  flushed  cheeks,  at 
least  she  could  not  remember  ever  having 
allowed  herself  any  such  folly  over  books 
entitled  "  Socialism  and  Anarchy,"  or  "  The 
Civic  Disease,"  or  "  The  Inner  Republic." 
She  was  glad  to  believe  that  Camilla  was  "  a 
type,"  because  it  was  easier  to  condemn  a 
type  than  to  condemn  Camilla,  for  having 
heartbeats  and  flushed  cheeks  over  matters 
so  unsuitable. 

In  the  times  when  carefully  constructed 
curls  tapped  against  Miss  Eunice's  flushed 


Camilla 


47 


cheeks,  it  has  been  supposed,  there  was  more 
social  emphasis  on  sex.  At  least  there  was 
a  difference.  Miss  Eunice  felt  the  differ 
ence,  and  looked  across  it  in  disapproval  of 
Camilla's  reading. 

Camilla  started,  gathered  the  books  in  an 
armful,  and  flashed  out  of  the  room,  across 
the  hall  to  her  father's  library.  She  settled 
in  a  chair  beside  him. 

"Now!    What  do  you  think?" 

Several  books  fell  on  the  floor.  She 
spilled  others  in  picking  up  the  first. 

"  I  think  your  books  will  lose  their 
backs,"  Champney  rumbled  mildly. 

The  fire  leaped  and  snapped  in  the  fire 
place,  and  the  sunlight  streamed  in  at  the 
tall  side  windows. 

"Think  of  what,  my  dear?" 

"  Listen ! " 

Her  father  leaned  his  whitehaired  and 
heavy  head  on  his  hand,  while  she  read  from 
the  grey  volume,  as  follows: 

" '  You  have  remarked  too  often  "  I  am 


48  Camilla 


as  good  as  you."  It  is  probable  that  God 
only  knows  whether  you  are  or  not.  You 
may  be  better.  I  think  he  knows  that  you 
are  always  either  better  or  worse.  If  you 
had  remarked  "  You  are  as  good  as  I,"  it 
would  have  represented  a  more  genial  frame 
of  mind.  It  would  have  rendered  your 
superiority  more  probable,  since  whichever 
remark  you  make  gives,  so  far  as  it  goes, 
its  own  evidence  that  it  is  not  true.  But 
indeed  it  is  probable  that  neither  your  life 
nor  your  ideas  are  admirable,  that  your  one 
hope  of  betterment  is,  not  to  become  con 
vinced  that  no  one  is  better  than  you,  but 
to  find  someone  to  whom  you  can  honour 
ably  look  up.  I  am  asking  you  to  look  up, 
not  back,  nor  away  among  the  long  dead 
years  for  any  cause  or  ideal.  I  am  asking 
you  to  search  for  your  leader  among  your 
contemporaries,  not  satisfied  until  you  find 
him,  not  limited  in  your  devotion  when  you 
have  found  him,  taking  his  cause  to  be 
yours.  I  am  asking  you  to  remember  that 


Camilla 


49 


evil  is  not  social,  but  human;  that  good  is 
not  social,  but  human.  You  have  heard 
that  an  honest  man  is  the  noblest  work  of 
God.  You  have  heard  of  no  institution 
which  merits  that  finality  of  praise.  You 
have  heard  that  every  institution  is  the 
lengthened  shadow  of  a  man.  Is  it  then  in 
shadows  or  by  shadows  that  we  live  ?  '  " 

Camilla  paused. 

"  I  think  your  author  is  in  a  measure  a 
disciple  of  Carlyle,"  said  Champney. 

"  Are  you  interested,  daddy  ?  See  who 
wrote  it ! " 

Champney  took  the  volume,  read,  "  Chap 
ter  Eighth.  Whither  My  Master  Went," 
and  turned  back  to  the  title  page.  "  H'm — 
'The  Inner  Republic,  by  Alcott  Aidee.'  An 
other  discovery,  is  it  ?  "  he  asked.  "  We 
discover  America  every  other  day,  my  dear ! 
What  an  extraordinary  generation  we  are !  " 

Camilla's  discovery  of  her  father  had 
been  a  happy  surprise.  Happy  surprises 


50  Camilla 


are  what  maids  in  their  Arcadian  age  are 
of  all  creatures  most  capable  of  receiving. 
She  called  him  her  "  graduate  course,"  and 
he  replied  gallantly  by  calling  her  his  "  post 
poned  education."  He  had  had  his  happy 
surprise  as  well.  It  was  an  especial,  an 
unexpected  reward  for  the  efforts  Champ- 
ney  had  made — not  altogether  painless — to 
realise  the  lapse  of  old  conditions,  and  to 
pick  up  threads  of  interest  in  the  new, — 
that  his  efforts  had  brought  him  to  these 
relations  with  Camilla ;  so  that  the  two  were 
able  to  sit  together  of  a  morning,  and  talk 
friendly  and  long,  without  patronage  or 
impatience. 

To  realise  the  lapse  of  old  conditions,  to 
realise  that  he  was  obsolete,  that  his  effective 
days  were  over!  It  was  a  hard  matter. 
Hard,  but  an  old  story  now,  this  struggle  to 
realise  this  change.  The  books  on  his 
shelves  had  grown  to  seem  passive  and  life 
less,  since  they  no  longer  had  connection 
through  himself  with  the  stir  of  existence. 


Camilla  5 1 


The  Websterian  periods  had  taken  on  a 
ghostly  echo,  and  the  slow  ebbing  of  the  war 
issues  had  left  him  with  a  sense  of  being 
stranded  on  dry  sands.  There  seemed  to  be 
a  flatness  everywhere, — a  silence,  except  for 
the  noisy  rattle  of  the  street. 

It  is  a  pleasant  saying,  that  "  The  evening 
of  life  comes  bringing  its  own  lamp,"  but 
it  seemed  to  him  it  was  a  drearily  false  one. 
The  great  men  of  a  great  time,  he  thought, 
were  gone,  or  fast  going.  It  was  a  stagna 
tion  period  in  his  life,  pictured  in  his  mind 
afterward  as  an  actual  desert,  dividing 
arable  lands.  Were  the  new  men  so  small, 
so  unuplifted,  or  was  it  only  his  own  mind 
grown  dry  and  nerveless?  He  was  afraid 
it  was  the  latter, — afraid  life  was  dying 
away,  or  drying  up  in  his  still  comfortable 
body. 

He  would  prove  to  himself  that  it  was  not. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  the  effort  he 
had  made, — a  defiant,  half-desperate  rally. 
The  struggle  began  at  a  definite  date.  One 


52  Camilla 


day  he  put  away  his  old  books.  He  bought 
new  ones,  and  new  periodicals,  and  deter 
mined  to  find  the  world  still  alive, — to  find 
again  that  old  sense  of  the  importance  of 
things  that  were  going  on.  It  was  an  inti 
mate  fight  this  time,  unapplauded — against 
a  shadow,  a  creeping  numbness.  He  fought 
on,  and  at  length  had  almost  begun  to  lose 
hope. 

When  Camilla  came  back  from  college  and 
Eastern  friends  she  dawned  upon  him  in  a 
series  of  minute  surprises.  She  brought  him 
his  victory,  and  the  lamp  for  his  evening. 
So  it  came  about.  The  struggle  was  over, 
and  the  longed-for  hope  and  cheer  came 
back  to  him. 

So  it  came  that  the  relation  between  them 
was  peculiar.  New  books  had  a  meaning 
when  Camilla  read  them  to  him,  as  she  read 
from  Alcott  Aidee's  book  to-day,  while  the 
noise  of  the  freight-yards,  and  the  rattle  of 
the  travelling  crane  unloading  a  docked  ship, 
sounded  dull  and  distant.  The  sunlight 


Camilla  53 


came  yellow  and  pleasant  through  tall  win 
dows,  and  the  fire  snapped  briskly,  and 
Alcott  Aidee  spoke  through  the  medium  of 
Camilla  and  the  grey  volume,  making  these 
singular  remarks : 

"  Incarnation  of  divinity !  Surely  you 
have  been  unfortunate,  if  in  going  to  and  fro 
in  this  world  you  have  nowhere  observed 
any  measure  of  divinity  incarnated  in  a  man, 
apparent  in  ordering  or  in  obedience,  in  lead 
ing  or  in  following,  speaking  from  lips 
which  said,  '  Follow  me,'  as  well  as  from 
those  which  said,  '  Thy  will,  not  mine  be 
done/  speaking,  for  aught  I  know,  as  largely 
in  one  way  as  the  other.  I  am  not  measur 
ing  divinity.  I  am  showing  you  where  to 
look  for  it.  I  am  trying  to  persuade  you 
that  it  does  not  speak  from  lips  which  say 
'  I  am  as  good  as  you/  ' 

New  books,  ran  Champney's  thoughts, 
new  men,  new  times,  new  waves  foaming  up 
the  old  slant  shores.  But  only  as  they  spoke 
with  Camilla's  voice,  did  they  seem  to  him 


54  Camilla 


now  to  make  the  numbed  cords  vibrate  again, 
or  comfort  his  wintry  age. 

"Isn't  it  interesting,  daddy?  If  you're 
going  to  be  frivolous,  I  shan't  read." 

Champney  was  looking  at  the  volume  with 
a  grim  smile. 

"  I  was  thinking  that  to  read  only  in  the 
middle  of  the  gentleman's  book  was  perhaps 
not  doing  him  justice.  It  was  perhaps  why 
I  did  not  understand  where  he  began,  or 
where  he  was  going.  It  seems  to  be  neither 
old  democracy  nor  new  socialism,  but  more 
like  the  divine  rights  of  some  kind  of  aris 
tocracy.  Shall  we  not  read  the  book 
through  in  order,  my  dear?  Having  be 
come  convinced  that  Mr.  Aidee  himself  con 
tains  a  measure  of  this  divinity,  and  having 
taken  him  for  our  leader,  shall  we  not  then 
induce  our  recalcitrant  friend  Dick  to  join 
us,  and  in  that  way  induce  him  to  become  a 
politician?  " 

This  was  the  Champney  manner  in  the 
stately  vein  of  irony. 


Camilla  55 


"  Oh !  "  Camilla  pushed  her  hand  through 
her  hair,  a  Champney  gesture,  "  Dick  was 
horrid  about  that." 

"  Recalcitrant,  Hum !  Horrid,  horridus, 
bristling,  Ha !  Not  inappropriate  to  the  at 
titude  on  that  occasion  of  the  said  Dick. 
Not  usual  for  him,  I  should  say.  He  is  like 
his  father,  Camilla.  A  quiet  man,  but  strik 
ing,  the  latter.  You  don't  remember  him?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  But  you  see,  Dick  didn't  like 
it,  because  Mr.  Aidee  asked  me  to  help  him. 
But  it  isn't  like  him  to  be  fussy.  Anyway,  I 
liked  it,  but  Dick  didn't.  So!"  Camilla 
pushed  back  her  hair,  another  Champney 
gesture — the  defiant  one.  "  Now,  what 
made  him  act  like  hornets  ?  " 

"  I  also  took  the  liberty  not  to  like  it, 
Camilla,"  with  a  rumble  of  thorough  bass. 

Camilla  glanced  up,  half  startled,  and  put 
a  small  warm  hand  into  her  father's  hand, 
which  was  large,  bony,  and  wrinkled.  The 
two  hands  clasped  instinctively  hard,  as  if 
for  assurance  that  no  breach  should  come 


56  Camilla 


between  them,  no  distance  over  which  the  old 
and  the  young  hand  could  not  clasp. 

Camilla  turned  back  to  Alcott  Aidee's 
book,  and  read  on.  Champney  found  him 
self  now  listening  in  a  personal,  or  what  he 
might  have  described  as  a  feminine,  way;  he 
found  himself  asking,  not  what  meaning  or 
truth  there  was  in  this  writer,  but  asking 
what  meaning  it  might  have  toward  Camilla, 
at  the  Arcadian  age  when  maids  are  fain  of 
surprises.  He  thought  of  Dick  Hennion,  of 
the  Hennions,  father  and  son.  One  always 
wondered  at  them,  their  cross-lot  logic,  their 
brevities,  their  instinct  as  to  where  the  ful 
crum  of  a  thing  rested.  One  believed  in 
them  without  asking  reasons — character  was 
a  mysterious  thing — a  certain  fibre  or  qual 
ity.  Ah !  Rick  Hennion  was  dead  now,  and 
Henry  Champney's  fighting  days  were  over. 
It  was  good  to  live,  but  a  weariness  to  be  too 
old.  He  thought  of  Alcott  Aidee,  of  his 
gifts  and  temperament,  his  theory  of  devo 
tion  and  divinity — an  erratic  star,  a  comet  of 


Camilla  57 


a  man,  who  had  a  great  church — by  the 
way,  it  was  not  a  church — a  building  at  least, 
with  a  tower  full  of  clamouring  bells,  and  a 
swarming  congregation.  It  was  called  "  The 
Seton  Avenue  Assembly."  So  Aidee  had 
written  this  solid  volume  on — something  or 
other.  One  could  see  he  was  in  earnest,  but 
that  Camilla  should  be  over-earnest  in  the 
wake  of  his  argument  seemed  a  strong  objec 
tion  to  the  argument.  A  new  man,  an  able 

writer — all   very   interesting — but In 

fact,  he  might  prove  resident  divinities,  or 
prove  perpetual  incarnations  of  the  devil,  if 
he  chose,  but  what  did  the  fellow  mean  by 
asking  Camilla  to In  fact,  it  was  an  un 
warranted  liberty.  Champney  felt  suddenly 
indignant.  Camilla  read  on,  and  Champney 
disliked  the  doctrine,  whatever  it  was,  in  a 
manner  defined  even  by  himself  as  "  femi 
nine." 

"  '  Not  in  vain,'  "  she  read,  "  '  have  men 
sought  in  nature  the  assurance  of  its  large 
currents,  of  its  calm  and  self-control,  the 


58  Camilla 


knitting  up  of  "  the  ravelled  sleave  of  care," 
"  the  breathing  balm  of  mute  insensate 
things,"  "  the  sleep  that  is  among  the  lonely 
hills."  It  has  been  written, 

"  Into  the  woods  my  Master  went 
Clean  foresprent, 

and  that  "  the  little  grey  leaves  were  kind  to 
him."  All  these  things  have  I  found,  and 
known  them.  Was  it  there  my  Master  went  ? 
I  found  the  balm,  the  slumber,  and  the 
peace.  But  I  found  no  inspiration.  This, 
wherever  I  found  it,  always  spoke  with 
human  lips,  always  looked  out  of  human 
eyes.  The  calm  of  nature  is  as  the  calm 
of  the  past.  Green  battlefields  lie  brood 
ing,  because  the  issue  is  over;  deep  woods 
and  secluded  valleys,  because  the  issue  is 
elsewhere.  The  apostle  who  met  a  vision  of 
his  Master  on  the  Appian  Way,  and  asked, 
"Whither  goest  thou?"  was  answered, 
"  Into  the  city."  Do  you  ask  again,  whither 
he  went  ?  I  answer  that  he  went  on  with  the 
vanguard  of  the  fight ;  which  vanguard  is  on 


Camilla  59 


the   front   wave  and  surf  of  these  times; 
which  front  wave  and  surf  is  in  the  minds 
fcnd  moods  of  persons;  not  in  creeds,  cus 
toms,  formulas,  churches,  governments,  or 
anywhere   else   at   all;   for  the   key   to   all 
cramped  and  rusted  locks  lies  in  humanity, 
not  in  nature;  in  cities,  not  in  solitudes;  in 
sympathy,  not  in  science;  in  men,  not  in  in 
stitutions  ;  not  in  laws,  but  in  persons/ 
"Aren't  you  interested,  daddy?" 
"  Yes,  my  dear.    Why  do  you  ask?  " 
"  You  look  so  absent-minded.     But  it's  a 
new  chapter  now,  and  it's  called  '  Constitu 
tions.'  '      Camilla  laughed  triumphantly. 

"  Constitutions !  Then  the  gentleman  will 
be  political.  Go  on." 

"'Chapter  ninth/"  she  read.  "'Con 
stitutions/ 

" '  Most  men  govern  themselves  as  mon 
archies;  some  as  despotisms  that  topple  to 
anarchies,  some  as  nearly  absolute  mon 
archies  ;  but  mainly,  and  on  the  whole,  they 
govern  themselves  as  partially  restricted  or 


60  Camilla 


constitutional  monarchies;  which  constitu 
tions  are  made  up  of  customs,  precedents, 
and  compromises,  British  Constitutions  of 
opportunism  and  common  law.  Indeed,  they 
claim  that  the  inner  life  must  be  a  monarchy 
by  its  nature,  and  every  man's  soul  his 
castle.  They  are  wrong.  It  must  be  a 
republic,  and  every  man's  soul  an  open 
house. 

"'Now,  it  is  nowhere  stated  in  any  Declar 
ation  or  Constitution  put  forth  of  this  Inner 
Republic  that  "  all  men  are  by  nature  free 
and  equal."  If  such  a  declaration  occurred 
to  the  framers  of  this  Constitution,  they 
would  seem  to  have  thought  it  difficult  to 
reconcile  with  observation,  and  not  very  per 
tinent  either.  As  a  special  qualification  for 
citizenship,  it  appears  to  be  written  there  that 
a  man  must  love  his  neighbour  as  himself — 
meaning  as  nearly  as  he  can,  his  citizenship 
graded  to  his  success;  and  as  a  general 
maxim  of  common  law,  it  is  written  that  he 
shall  treat  other  men  as  he  would  like  them 


Camilla  61 


to  treat  him,  or  words  to  that  effect.  How 
ever,  although  to  apply  and  interpret  this 
Constitution  there  are  courts  enough,  and 
bewildering  litigation,  and  counsel  eager 
with  their  expert  advice,  yet  the  Supreme 
Court  holds  in  every  man's  heart  its  sepa 
rate  session.' ' 

To  all  of  which  Champney's  thoughts 
made  one  singular  comment.  "  Camilla," 
they  insisted,  "  Camilla." 


CHAPTER  IV 
flfcusca&ine  Street 

WHILE  Camilla  and  Henry  Champney 
bent  a  dark  and  a  white  head  over 
Aidee's  book,  Miss  Eunice  in  the  parlour 
bent  a  grey  head  over  her  knitting,  and 
thought  of  Camilla,  and  disapproved  of 
the  type  of  girls  who  neither  knitted  nor 
even  embroidered;  who  had  hot  cheeks,  not 
over  such  subjects,  for  instance,  as  "  Rich 
ard,"  but  over  such  subjects  as  "  Problems 
of  the  Poor,"  and  "  Civic  Diseases." 

Miss  Eunice  looked  up  from  her  knitting 
now  and  then,  and  through  the  window  she 
saw  across  the  river  the  huddle  of  East  Ar 
gent's  disordered  roofs,  and  factories,  and 
chimneys  powerfully  belching  black  smoke, 
and  disapproved  of  what  she  saw. 

There  were  others  than  Miss  Eunice  who 
disapproved  of  East  Argent.  Dwellers  on 
62 


Muscadine  Street  63 

Herbert  and  Seton  Avenues,  those  quiet, 
shaded  avenues,  with  their  clean,  broad 
lawns,  were  apt  to  do  so. 

Yet  it  was  a  corporate  part  of  Port  Argent 
and  the  nearest  way  to  it  was  over  the  Maple 
Street  bridge. 

The  P.  and  N.  Railroad  passed  under  the 
East  Argent  approach  to  the  bridge,  coming 
from  its  further  freight  yards  on  the  right. 
At  the  first  corner  beyond,  if  there  happened 
to  be  a  street  sign  there,  which  was  unlikely, 
the  sign  would  read  "  Muscadine  Street." 

Muscadine  Street  left  ran  down  the  river 
toward  the  belching  factories;  Muscadine 
Street  right,  up  the  river  between  the 
freight  yards  on  one  side  and  a  row  of 
houses  on  the  other;  depressing  houses,  of 
wood  or  brick,  with  false  front  elevations 
feebly  decorated ;  ground  floors  mainly  shops 
for  meat,  groceries,  liquors,  candies;  upper 
floors  overrun  with  inhabitants.  There  were 
slouching  men  on  the  sidewalk,  children 
quarrelling  in  the  muddy  street,  unkempt 


64  Muscadine  Street 

women  in  the  windows,  of  whom  those  with 
dull  faces  were  generally  fat,  those  with 
clever  faces  generally  drawn  and  thin.  It 
was  a  street  with  iron  clamours  and  trium 
phant  smells.  It  was  a  street  whose  popula 
tion  objected  to  neither  circumstance,  and 
found  existence  on  the  whole  interesting  and 
more  than  endurable.  It  was  a  street 
unaware  of  Miss  Eunice  Champney's  dis 
approval,  and  undisturbed  by  that  of  Her 
bert  and  Seton  Avenues.  It  is  singular  how 
many  people  can  be  disapproved  of  by  how 
many  others,  and  neither  be  the  better  or 
worse  on  that  account. 

On  the  second  corner  was  a  grocery  occu 
pying  the  ground  floor  of  a  flat-roofed,  clap- 
boarded  house.  Around  the  corner,  on  a  side 
street  leading  east,  a  wooden  stair  ran  up  on 
the  outside.  At  the  top  of  the  stair  a  sign  in 
black  letters  on  a  yellow  background  implied 
that  "James  Shays,  Shoemaker,"  was  able 
to  mend  all  kinds  of  footwear,  and  would  do 
so  on  request.  Inside  the  hallway,  the  first 


Muscadine  Street  65 

door  on  the  right  was  the  shoemaker's  door, 
and  within  were  two  small  rooms,  of  which 
the  first  was  the  shop. 

A  wooden  table  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  with  a  smoky-chimneyed  lamp  there 
on,  some  newspapers,  and  half  of  a  book  that 
had  been  ripped  savagely  in  two.  A  double 
shoemaker's  bench  stood  next  the  window, 
a  cooking  stove  and  a  cupboard  opposite. 
Clothes  hung  on  wall-hooks,  hides  lay  on  the 
floor. 

Shays  sat  on  one  end  of  the  bench,  a  grey- 
haired,  grey-moustached,  watery-eyed  man, 
pegging  a  shoe  vaguely.  A  black-haired 
little  man  with  a  thin  black  beard  sat  on  the 
other  end,  stitching  a  shoe  fiercely.  A  red- 
lipped,  red-cheeked,  thick-nosed,  thick- 
necked  man  with  prominent  eyes,  sat  tilted 
back  in  one  of  the  wooden  chairs,  stating  his 
mind  deliberately. 

Most  of  these  phases  of  Muscadine  Street 
might  be  found  so  arranged,  on  most 
mornings,  by  any  visitor.  Shays  and  the 


66  Muscadine  Street 

red-cheeked  Coglan  could  not  be  depended 
on ;  but  the  men  on  the  sidewalk,  the  women 
in  the  windows,  the  children  in  the  street,  the 
clamour  and  the  smells  would  be  there;  also 
the  grocer,  the  butcher,  and  Hicks,  the 
stitcher  of  vehement  stitches.  If  Coglan  and 
Shays  were  there,  Coglan  would  be  found  in 
the  process  of  stating  his  mind. 

Hicks'  eyes  were  black,  restless,  and  in 
tense,  his  mouth  a  trifle  on  one  side,  his 
forehead  high  with  a  deep  line  down  the 
middle.  It  was  a  painful  line;  when  he 
smiled  it  seemed  to  point  downward  frown- 
ingly  to  the  fact  that  the  smile  was  one 
sided. 

Coglan  was  Shays'  associate  in  the  pur 
suit  of  happiness.  His  value  lay  in  this :  that 
upon  a  certain  amount  of  hard  liquor  pur 
chased  by  Shays,  and  divided  fairly  and 
orderly  between  them,  Shays  became  needy 
of  help,  and  Coglan  generally  remained  in 
good  condition  and  able  to  take  him  home. 
Hicks  was  Shays'  partner  in  the  shop.  His 


Muscadine  Street  67 

value  lay  in  this :  that  he  did  twice  as  much 
work  as  Shays,  and  was  satisfied  with  half 
the  profits.  Both  men  were  valuable  to 
Shays,  and  the  shop  supported  the  three. 

The  relations  between  them  had  grown 
settled  with  time.  Nearly  four  years  earlier 
Hicks  had  entered  Shays'  shop.  There  he 
learned  to  cobble  footwear  in  some  incredibly 
short  time,  and  took  his  place  in  the  appre 
hension  of  Muscadine  Street.  Hicks  he 
called  himself  and  nothing  more.  "  Hicks  " 
was  a  good  enough  name.  It  went  some  dis 
tance  toward  describing  the  brooding  and 
restless  little  man,  with  his  shaking,  clawlike 
fingers,  smouldering  temper,  and  gift  for 
fluent  invective.  Some  said  he  was  an  an 
archist.  He  denied  it,  and  went  into  fiery 
definitions,  at  which  the  grocer  and  candy 
man  shook  their  heads  vaguely,  and  the 
butcher  said,  "  Says  he  ain't,  an'  if  he  ain't, 
he  ain't,  not  as  I  see  ";  which  seemed  a  con 
clusive  piece  of  logic.  At  any  rate  he  was 
Hicks. 


68  Muscadine  Street 

The  elderly  Shays  was  a  peaceful  soul, 
a  dusty  mind,  a  ruined  body.  He  was  travel 
ling  through  his  life  now  at  a  pace  that 
would  be  apt  to  bring  him  to  the  end  of  it  at 
no  distant  date,  enjoying  himself,  as  he  un 
derstood  enjoyment,  or  as  enjoyment  was  in 
terpreted  to  him  by  the  wise  Coglan.  Coglan 
maintained  a  solidly  planted  dislike  of  Hicks, 
whose  attacks  threatened  his  dominance, 
whose  acrid  contempt  and  unlimited  vocabu 
lary  sometimes  even  threatened  his  compla 
cence.  Coglan's  wisdom  saw  that  the  situ 
ation  was  preferable  to  searching  for  jobs, 
and  that  the  situation  depended  on  Hicks'  ac 
ceptance  of  it.  Hicks  was  a  mystery  to  him, 
as  well  as  to  Shays,  and  something  of  a  fear, 
but  Coglan  was  not  disturbed  by  the  mys 
tery.  He  could  leave  that  alone  and  do  very 
well.  But  Hicks  was  a  poisoned  needle. 
Hicks  knew  where  to  find  Coglan's  sensitive 
point  and  jab  it.  Coglan  hated  him  solidly, 
but  balancing  his  dislike  against  his  interest 
and  ease,  Coglan  wisely  found  that  the  latter 


Muscadine  Street  69 

were  more  solid  still — beyond  comparison 
solid. 

All  this  could  be  learned  by  any  visitor 
inquiring  in  Muscadine  Street.  The  grocer 
underneath  would  add  tersely  that  Shays 
was  a  soak,  but  good-hearted;  that  Hicks 
was  a  fool,  and  ought  to  set  up  shop  for  him 
self ;  that  Coglan  was  a  loafer,  and  had  his 
bread  buttered  now  about  to  suit  him.  Dis 
approval  of  each  other  was  current  in 
Muscadine  Street.  It  was  a  part  of  their 
interest  in  life. 

The  same  morning  sunlight  that  slanted 
through  Henry  Champney's  tall  library  and 
parlour  widows  was  slanting  through  the 
small  streaked  window  of  Shays,  the  shoe- 
mender.  Coglan  was  stating  his  mind. 

"  Jimmy  Shays,  yer  a  good  man,"  he  was 
saying  slowly;  "an',  Hicksy,  yer  an'  indus- 
thrious  man;  but  nayther  of  ye  is  a  wise 
man.  but  Jimmy  is  the  wisest  man  of  ye  two. 
For  why?  Ask  that,  an'  I  says  this.  For 
when  Jimmy  wants  a  bit  of  thinkin'  done  for 


70  Muscadine  Street 

him,  he  gets  a  sensible  man  to  do  it,  an'  a 
poor  man,  an'  a  workin'  man  like  himself, 
an'  a  man  that's  a  friend,  and  that  stands  by 
him  in  throuble.  But  what  does  ye  do, 
Hicksy?  Ye  goes  over  the  river.  Ye  goes 
up  to  Seton  Avenue.  Ye  listens  to  a  chin- 
waggin'  preacher.  An'  what's  his  name? 
Aidee !  He  ain't  a  workin'  man  himself,  but 
wears  the  clothes  of  the  rich,  an'  ates  his  din 
ner  wid  the  rich,  an'  says  hard  words  of  the 
friends  of  the  poor.  An'  yer  desaved, 
Hicksy." 

Hicks  stopped  work  and  shook  a  thin  fist 
at  Coglan.  "  If  you're  talkin'  of  him,  you 
keep  your  manners." 

"  Oi,  the  Preacher !  Oi,  he  might  be 
meanin'  well,  Hicksy.  I  ain't  sayin'  not." 

"What  are  you  saying  then?"  jabbing 
viciously  with  his  needle.  "  Damn !  You're 
an  Irishman,  ain't  you?  Chin-wagging  in 
stitution  yourself.  What !  Who's  the  work 
ing  man  ?  You !  Ain't  you  got  a  description 
of  you  that's  vivider  'n  that?"  breaking 


Muscadine  Street  71 

into  a  cackling  laugh.  "  Then  I'll  ask 
you,  what  friends  of  the  poor  you're 
talking  about  so  glib,  like  a  greased 
wheel?" 

"  Oi !  Yer  askin'  what  I  mean  by  a 
friend,  Hicksy?  Ye  are!  An'  yer  right,  an' 
I'll  show  ye  the  point.  I'll  speak  to  ye  of 
John  Murphy,  now,  what  I've  had  many  a 
drink  on  him,  an'  a  helpin'  hand.  A  friend 
is  a  friend  in  need.  That's  him.  Now,  thin, 
Murphy's  a  friend  of  Wood's,  for  he  says  so. 
Now,  thin,  I'll  show  you  Dick  Hennion.  For 
if  I  wants  a  job,  I  says  the  word  to  Murphy, 
an'  he  speaks  the  word  maybe  to  Hennion 
an'  he  gets  me  a  job,  for  he  done  it  onct,  an* 
I  know,  don't  I  ?  if  so  be  it  happen  I  wants 
a  job.  An'  Hennion's  a  friend  of  Wood's, 
too,  as  anywan  knows.  Now!  A  friend  of 
me,  I  says,  is  a  man  that  acts  friendly  to  me. 
That's  him.  So  would  ye  say,  Hicksy,  if 
ye  was  a  wise  man  an'  a  man  of  sense,  in 
stead  of  chasin'  afther  a  chin-waggm' 
preacher,  like  a  schnare-drum  afther  a 


72  Muscadine  Street 

thrombone.  Haw,  haw,  haw !  a  brass  throm- 
bone !  But  Wood's  a  friend  of  the  poor,  an' 
I've  proved  it.  For  why?  For  I  say  it's  the 
rich  that  he  bleeds,  but  the  poor  man  he's 
friendly  to.  Now,  thin !  What  does  Aidee 
do  but  say  the  bad  word  of  Wood.  In  con 
sequence,  in  consequence,  I  says," — and 
Coglan  smote  his  knee, — "  he  ain't  no  friend 
of  the  poor." 

Hicks'  black  eyes  glittered  and  focussed 
themselves,  a  concentrated  stare  at  a  mi 
nutely  small  spot  between  Coglan's  eyes. 
His  teeth  clicked.  Coglan's  laugh  died  away. 
He  turned  his  eyes  aside  and  rubbed  his  red 
face  uneasily. 

"  Coglan,"  said  Hicks,  "  I  warned  you  be 
fore.  You  shake  your  mouth  at  the  Preacher 
again  and  I'll  stick  a  knife  into  your  dirty 
throat.  You  hear  that !  " 

Coglan's  redness  showed  purple  spots. 

"  Think  I'm  afraid  of  ye!" 

"  Yep,  I  think  you  are." 

"  I'll  break  your  little  chick  bones ! " 


Muscadine  Street  73 

"  Yep.  You're  afraid,  and  you  better  stay 
so." 

"Hicksy!"  broke  in  Shays  with  quav 
ering  voice.  "  Tom !  we're  all  friends,  ain't 
we  ?  Now,  then,  Tom,  Hicksy  makes  a  point 
you  leave  out  the  Preacher,  don't  he?  He'll 
argue  peaceful.  Jus'  leave  out  the  Preacher. 
Won't  you,  Hicksy?  Hey?  You'll  argue 
peaceful." 

"  I  said  I  would." 

"  Leave  out  the  Preacher,"  said  Shays. 
"All  f Hens'.  Hey?" 

Coglan  wiped  his  perspiring  face.  "  I'm 
a  sensible  man,"  he  said.  "  When  Jimmy 
Shays  asks  a  favour,  I  say,  sure !  I'm  a  sen 
sible  man."  He  looked  resentfully  and  un- 
easrly  at  Hicks,  but  seemed  relieved  to  with 
draw  from  his  aggressive  position  without 
losing  his  dominance. 

"  Oi !  I  told  ye  what  I  meant  by  a  friend. 
I  said  Marve  Wood  was  a  friend  of  the  poor, 
an'  I  proved  it.  I'll  be  fair  an'  square.  I'll 
ask  ye,  what's  your  meanin'  ?  " 


74  Muscadine  Street 

Hicks  dropped  his  eyes,  and  fell  to  his  jab 
bing  needlework. 

"  Friend !  "  he  said.  "  You  mean  a  man 
that's  useful  to  you.  You  say  so !  You  say 
so!  That's  your  meaning.  Good's  what's 
good  for  me.  Sense  is  what  agrees  with  me. 
Nothing's  got  any  value  that  ain't  valuable 
to  that  God-forsaken,  whiskey-soaked  '  me/ 
named  Coglan,  that's  got  no  more  value  than 
to  fertilise  a  patch  of  potatoes.  Friend !  You 
get  another  word.  I  got  nothing  to  say  to 
you.  But  I'll  tell  you  this.  I'll  tell  you  what 
I  think  of  Wood.  He's  got  a  reckoning  com 
ing.  What  is  Wood  ?  I'll  tell  you  that  he's 
the  meeting  point  of  two  enemies — the  cor 
porations  and  the  people,  the  rich  and  the 
poor.  His  job's  to  keep  in  with  both.  That's 
what  his  friendliness  amounts  to.  His  job's 
to  sell  the  corporations  what  belongs  to  the 
people.  And  he'll  grin  at  the  people  on  one 
side,  so !  And  he'll  wink  at  the  corporations 
on  the  other,  so !  And  he'll  say :  '  How  do, 
Johnny,  and  Billy,  and  Sammy?  '  So !  And 


Muscadine  Street  75 

he'll  say  to  the  corporations,  '  What  '11  you 
give  for  Johnny's  hat  ? '  So !  Then  he 
gives  Johnny  half  what  he  gets  for  the  hat, 
so!  Then  he's  got  Sammy  and  Billy  to 
back  the  deal,  so!  Well,  what's  Wood! 
I've  told  you  what  he  is.  Friend  of  the 
poor !  What  do  you  know  about  it  ?  "  He 
dropped  the  shoe,  shook  his  loose  fingers  in 
the  air,  and  cried.  "  He's  a  cancer !  Cut 
him  out!  He's  an  obstruction!  Blow  him 
up!  What,  then?  Then  I  say  this,  Tom 
Coglan,  and  I  say  it's  a  good  thing  when 
damn  rascals  are  afraid !  " 

"Quotin'  the  Preacher?"  said  Coglan 
complacently. 

Hicks  narrowed  his  black  eyes  again,  and 
focussed  them  on  Coglan,  who  turned  away 
uneasily.  Hicks  went  on : 

"  What  you'd  ask,  if  you  were  quick 
enough  with  your  point,  is  whether  Wood 
ever  did  you  a  bad  turn?  No,  he  didn't. 
Nor  said  a  word  to  me  in  his  life,  nor  I  to 
him,  nor  want  to.  Will  you  ask  me  what 


Muscadine  Street 


I  got  against  him,  then,  or  won't  you,  or  are 
you  too  fat-headed  to  know  what  I'm  talking 
about?" 

"Oi!"  said  Coglan.  "Yer  right.  I'll 
ask  ye  that." 

"  And  I'll  say  that  so  long  as  this  '  me  '  of 
mine  "  —  tapping  his  narrow  chest  —  "  ain't 
fertilising  a  patch  of  potatoes,  a  friend  ain't 
going  to  mean  any  man  that  does  me  a  good 
turn,  nor  an  enemy  mean  anybody  that  does 
me  a  bad  turn.  A  man  that  means  no 
more  'n  that,  ain't  fit  to  fertilise  turnips. 
That's  my  meaning,  Tom  Coglan." 

"  Oi  !    Quotin'  the  Preacher." 

"  Yes,  I  am,  some  of  it." 

He  went  back  to  his  stitching  sullenly. 
Coglan  and  Shays  looked  at  each  other  and 
then  stealthily  at  Hicks. 

"  I  hear  no  talk  against  the  Preacher," 
Hicks  went  on,  after  a  time  ;  "  I  won't,  and 
why  not  is  my  business.  He  ain't  for  you  to 
understand,  nor  the  like  of  you,  nor  the  like 
of  Jimmy  Shays,  —  neither  him,  nor  his  talk, 


Muscadine  Street  77 

nor  his  book.  What  of  it  ?  There  ain't  an 
other  man  in  Port  Argent  but  me  that  under 
stands  that  book.  But  the  Preacher  don't 
do  all  my  thinking  for  me,  and  you're  wrong 
there,  Coglan.  What  do  you  know  about 
him,  or  me?  What's  the  use  of  my  talking 
to  you  ?  But  if  you  did  know,  and  then  if  you 
said,  '  The  Preacher  holds  a  man  back  till 
he's  like  to  go  crazy,  and  always  did ' ;  or  if 
you  said,  '  The  Preacher's  for  setting  you  on 
fire  and  then  smothering  it,  till  he's  burnt 
your  bowels  out ' ;  and  if  you  talked  like  that, 
as  understanding  him  and  me,  maybe  I'd  talk 
to  you.  I'd  talk  so,  too,  for  his  way  ain't 
my  way." 

He  pointed  a  crooked  finger  at  the  torn 
book  on  the  table. 

"  See  that  book !  It's  called  '  Commun 
ism/  Half  of  it's  right  and  half  of  it's  not. 
That's  my  way." 

His  two-handed  gesture  of  ripping  the 
book  in  two  was  so  sudden  and  savage  that 
Coglan  dropped  his  chair  and  turned  to  look 


78  Muscadine  Street 

at  the  book  in  a  startled  way,  as  if  he  ex 
pected  to  see  something  ghastly. 

"  But  it  ain't  the  Preacher's  way.  But  I 
ain't  the  man  to  be  held  back,"  said  Hicks, 
"  and  patted  and  cooed  over.  Not  me.  Show 
me  a  snake  and  I  stamp  on  it !  Show  me  the 
spot  and  I  hit  it !  Damn !  " 

He  twisted  his  mouth.  His  teeth  clicked 
again,  and  his  crooked  fingers  drove  the 
glittering  needles  swiftly  back  and  forth 
through  the  leather.  Coglan  stared  at  him 
with  prominent  eyeballs  and  mouth  open. 
Shays  wiped  his  glasses,  and  then  his  red- 
lidded  eyes  with  his  coat  sleeve. 

"All  frien's,  Hicksy!  Ain't  we?"  he 
murmured  uneasily. 

Coglan  recovered.  "  An'  that's  right, 
too.  Jimmy  Shays  is  a  kind  man  and  a 
peaceable  man,  an'  I'm  a  sensible  man, 
an'  yer  an  industhrious  man,  but  yer  not 
a  wise  man,  Hicksy,  an'  " — with  sudden  se 
verity — "  I'll  thank  ye  not  to  stomp  on  Tom 
Coglan." 


Muscadine  Street  79 

He  got  up.  Shays  rose,  too,  and  put  on 
his  coat,  and  both  went  out  of  the  door. 
Hicks  gave  a  cackling  laugh,  but  did  not 
look  after  them. 

Presently  he  finished  the  shoe,  laid  it 
down,  rubbed  his  hands,  and  straightened 
his  back.  Then  he  went  and  got  the  torn 
book,  sat  down,  and  read  in  it  half  an  hour 
or  more,  intent  and  motionless. 

The  factory  whistles  blew  for  twelve 
o'clock.  He  rose  and  went  to  a  side  cup 
board,  took  out  a  leathern  rifle  case,  put  a 
handful  of  cartridges  in  his  pockets,  and  left 
the  shop. 

The  grocer's  children  in  the  side  doorway 
fled  inward  to  the  darkness  of  the  hall  as  he 
passed.  The  grocer's  wife  also  saw  him,  and 
drew  back  behind  the  door.  He  did  not  no 
tice  any  of  them. 

The  long  eastward-leading  street  grew 
more  and  more  dusty  and  unpaved.  He 
passed  empty  lots  and  then  open  fields,  corn 
fields,  clumps  of  woods,  and  many  trestles  of 


8o  Muscadine  Street 

the  oil  wells.  He  climbed  a  rail  fence  and 
entered  a  large  piece  of  woods,  wet  and  cool. 
The  new  leaves  were  just  starting  from  their 
buds. 

It  was  a  mild  April  day,  with  a  silvery, 
misty  atmosphere  over  the  green  mass  of  the 
woods.  A  few  of  the  oil  wells  were  at  work, 
thudding  in  the  distance.  Cattle  were  feed 
ing  in  the  wet  green  fields.  Birds,  brown 
and  blue,  red-breasted  and  grey-breasted, 
twittered  and  hopped  in  tree  and  shrub.  A 
ploughman  in  a  far-off  field  shouted  to  his 
team.  Crows  flapped  slowly  overhead,  drop 
ping  now  and  then  a  dignified,  contented 
croak.  The  only  other  sound  was  the  fre 
quent  and  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle  from  deep 
in  the  centre  of  the  woods. 


CHAPTER  V 
Gecumseb  Street 

TECUMSEH  STREET  was  the  fourth 
street  back  from  the  river.  Tradition 
said  that  the  father  and  certain  aunts  of 
the  man  who  laid  out  the  street  had  been 
scalped  by  Tecumseh,  the  Indian.  It  was 
the  only  distinguished  event  in  his  family, 
and  he  wished  to  commemorate  it. 

The  street  was  paved  with  undressed  Me 
dina.  The  newspaper  offices  were  all  there, 
and  the  smash  and  scream  of  undressed 
Medina  under  traffic  was  in  the  columns. 
It  was  satisfactory  to  Port  Argent.  The 
proper  paving  of  streets  in  front  of  news 
paper  offices  was  never  petitioned  in  the 
Council.  Opposite  the  offices  was  a  half 
block  of  vacant  lots,  a  high  board  fence  of 
advertisements  around  it. 

The  space  between  was  packed  with  a 
81 


82  Tecumseh  Street 

jostling  crowd.  A  street  lamp  lit  a  small 
section  of  it.  Lights  from  the  office  windows 
fell  in  patches  on  faces,  hats,  and  shoulders. 
A  round  moon  floated  above  the  tower  of 
The  Chronicle  Building  with  a  look  of  mild 
speculation,  like  a  "Thrice Blessed  Buddha," 
leading  in  the  sky  his  disciple  stars,  who  all 
endeavoured  to  look  mildly  speculative,  and 
saying,  "  Yonder,  oh,  mendicants !  is  a  dense 
mass  of  foolish  desires,  which  indeed  squirm 
as  vermin  in  a  pit,  and  are  unpleasant  to  the 
eye  of  meditation.  Because  the  mind  of 
each  individual  is  there  full  of  squirming 
desires,  even  as  the  individual  squirms  in 
the  mass,"  No  doubt  it  looks  so  when  one 
floats  so  far  over  it. 

Opposite  the  windows  of  The  Chronicle 
(Independent-Reform)  and  The  Press 
(Republican)  the  advertising  boards  were 
covered  with  white  cloth,  and  two  blinding 
circles  shone  there  of  rival  stereopticons. 
There  was  no  board  fence  opposite  The 
Western  Advocate  (Democratic),  and  no 


Tecumseh  Street  83 

stereopticon  in  the  windows.  This  was  de 
plored.  It  showed  a  lack  of  public  spirit — 
a  want  of  understanding  of  the  people's 
needs.  If  there  could  be  no  stereopticon 
without  a  board  fence,  there  should  be  a 
brass  band. 

The  proprietor  of  The  'Advocate  sent  out 
for  a  bushel  of  Roman  candles,  and  dis 
charged  them  from  his  windows  by  threes, 
of  red,  white,  and  blue.  This  was  poetic  and 
sufficient. 

The  stereopticons  flashed  on  the  white 
circles  the  figures  of  returns,  when  there 
were  any,  pictures  and  slurs  when  there  were 
no  figures, — a  picture  of  a  cage  full  of  riot 
ous  monkeys  on  The  Chronicle  circle,  under 
written,  "  The  Council," — a  picture  of  an 
elderly  lady  with  a  poke  bonnet  and  lifted 
hands  of  reprehension,  on  the  Press  circle, 
underwritten,  "  Independent  Reform." 

"Auction  of  the  City  of  Port  Argent!" 
flashed  The  Chronicle.  "  Office  of  M.  Wood. 
Cash  on  Delivery  of  Goods." 


84  Tecumseh  Street 

"  All  citizens  must  go  to  Sunday  School 
or  be  fined,"  from  The  Press. 

11  6th  Ward.  Rep.  Plurality,  300." 
"  ist  Ward.  Ind.  Ref.  Plurality,  28." 
Whish!  a  rocket  from  the  windows  of 
The   Western  Advocate.     And  the  crowd 
roared  and  shuffled. 

The  last  of  The  Press  windows  to  the  left 
belonged  to  a  little  room  off  the  press-room, 
containing  a  desk,  a  board  table,  and  several 
chairs.  The  desk  seemed  only  to  be  used  as 
an  object  at  which  to  throw  articles,  in 
order  that  they  might  roll  to  the  floor. 
There  were  crude  piles  of  newspapers  on  it 
and  about  it,  hats,  a  section  of  a  stove  pipe, 
and  a  backgammon  board.  The  table  looked 
as  if  it  sometimes  might  be  used  to  write 
on. 

The  room  was  supposed  to  be  the  editor's, 
but  no  one  in  Port  Argent  believed  Charlie 
Carroll  ever  stayed  in  the  same  place  long 
enough  to  pre-empt  it.  He  edited  The  Press 
from  all  over  the  city,  and  wrote  the  edi- 


Tecumseh  Street  85 

torials  wherever  he  stopped  to  catch  breath. 
The  Press  editorials  were  sometimes  single 
sentences,  sometimes  a  paragraph.  More 
than  a  paragraph  was  supposed  to  mean  that 
Carroll  had  ridden  on  a  street  car,  and 
relieved  the  tedium  of  his  long  imprison 
ment. 

A  number  of  men  stood  at  the  window 
or  stood  grouped  back,  and  watched  the 
canvas  across  the  street.  The  only  light 
came  through  the  door  from  the  press-room. 

Carroll  put  his  curly  head  through  the 
door,  shouted  something  and  vanished. 
The  Press  stereopticon  withdrew  a  view  of 
Yosmite  Valley  and  threw  on  the  can 
vas: 

"  Recount  in  the  ist  Ward  announced." 

The  Chronicle  cleared  its  canvas  promptly 
and  flung  across  the  street: 

"Fraud!" 

Only  two  men  sat  still  by  the  window  of 
the  darkened  room.  The  rest  rushed  out. 

The  street  was  in  an  uproar,  hats  crushed 


86  Tecumseh  Street 

over  heads,  fists  shaken  in  the  air  to  the  in 
structive  comment  of  the  moon. 

"  How  foolish,  oh,  mendicants !  How  do 
men  make  for  themselves  troubles,  as  though 
one  should  stir  quiet  waters  with  his  hand, 
saying,  '  It  is  a  storm.  The  gods  have 
afflicted  me/  " 

"  How  foolish !  "  said  one  of  the  men  at 
the  darkened  window.  "  Those  boys  are 
terribly  anxious  to  carry  that  Ward,  and 
no  point  in  it,  Dick !  " 

"  Suppose  I'd  been  out  canvassing  for 
Reform,  Wood?  Think  you'd  have 
lost?" 

Wood  peered  curiously  at  Hennion  in  the 
half-lit  dusk.  "  Like  enough !  Well — want 
anything  in  particular?  I  admit  the  bill,  if 
it  ain't  too  big." 

"  I  don't  want  anything." 

Wood  tilted  his  chair  and  was  silent  a 
moment. 

"  Look  what  comes  of  making  rows," 
he  went  on.  "  I  wouldn't  have  that  Ward 


Tecumseh  Street  87 

now  for  a  gift.  The  Chronicle's  red  in  the 
face  with  wrath  and  happiness.  Every 
body's  hair  on  end  as  it  is.  Disgusting, 
ain't  it  ?  Well — down  east,  where  the  land's 
tilted  up  so  you  can  turn  a  section  over 
bottom  upwards  by  heaving  one  end  with  a 
rail,  well — there  was  a  man  there  had  a  farm 
at  the  bottom  of  a  long  hill,  and  his  neigh 
bour's  punkins  up  above  used  to  roll  down  on 
him.  But  he  didn't  make  any  row,  because 
his  yard  was  littered  with  punkins,  no.  He 
ate  the  punkins.  Well,  now,  take  the  neigh 
bour  above,  he  might  have  gone  down  and 
called  somebody  a  thief  for  not  returning 
strayed  punkins,  and  two  pillars  of  the 
church  might  have  disliked  each  other.  But 
he  didn't.  He  built  a  board  fence  along 
the  lower  edge  of  his  cornfield  and  caught 
his  own  punkins.  And  there  was  mutual 
respect,  mutual  respect.  Well — the  boys, 
they  always  want  to  fight.  They  go  round 
saying,  *  The  old  man's  level-headed,'  but 
they  ain't  satisfied  with  building  that  fence 


Tecumseh  Street 


to  catch  those  punkins  without  heaving  a 
rock  down  an  aggravating  man's  chimney, 
or  else  it  makes  'em  mad  to  have  punkins 
rolled  at  'em,  and  moreover  they  don't  roll 
fast  enough.  Disgusting,  ain't  it?" 

"Wood!  Wood!  Wherein "  Carroll 

rushed  in  and  turned  up  the  electric  light 
impatiently.  "  Wh-what  you  going  to  do 
about  the  First  Ward?" 

He  had  thin  bright  curly  hair,  the 
slimmest  of  bodies,  and  moved  like  a  restless 
insect. 

"Tell  'em  to  count  it  twenty-eight  Reform 
plurality,  no  more  and  no  less !  And  turn  off 
that  light!  And  clear  out!  Well — now — that 
Charlie  Carroll,  he's  a  living  fidget.  Well — 
when  they  used  to  race  steamboats  on  the 
Mississippi,  they'd  put  a  nigger  on  the 
safety  valve,  so  it  wouldn't  get  nervous. 
I've  heard  so.  I've  seen  'em  tie  it  up  with  a 
string.  Well — winning  the  race  depended 
some  on  the  size  and  serenity  of  the  nigger, 
that  'd  see  it  wasn't  his  place  to  worry,  for 


Tecumseh  Street  89 

he'd  get  blown  off  all  right  in  the  natural 
course  of  things.  For  sitting  on  a  safety 
valve  you  want  a  nigger  that  won't  wriggle. 
Well — Charlie's  a  good  man.  Keeps  people 
thinking  about  odds  and  ends  of  things.  If 
one  thing  out  of  forty  is  going  to  happen, 
his  mind's  going  to  be  a  sort  of  composite 
picture  of  the  whole  forty.  Sees  eight  or 
ten  dimensions  to  a  straight  line.  Yes — 
folks  are  pretty  liberal.  They'll  allow  there's 
another  side  to  'most  anything,  and  a 
straight  line's  got  no  business  to  be  so  gone 
particular.  It's  the  liberal-mindedness  of 
the  public  that  lets  us  win  out,  of  course. 
But — you've  got  to  sit  still  sometimes,  and 
wait  for  the  earth  to  turn  round." 

"  I  suppose  you  have.     It  '11  turn  round." 

"  Yes,  it  '11  turn  round." 

The  tumult  outside  had  subsided  in  a  dull, 
unsettled  rumble.  The  moon  went  into  re 
treat  among  silver-grey  clouds.  Tecumseh 
Street  muttered  in  the  darkness  of  its  pit. 
The  stereopticons  continued. 


90  Tecumseh  Street 

"  The  Chronicle  suspects  the  U.  S.  Cen 
sus/'  from  The  Press. 

"  Census  O.  K.  Wood  didn't  make  it," 
from  The  Chronicle. 

"  Port  Argent  stands  by  the  G.  O.  P." 

"  Did  Wood  mention  his  Candidate's 
Name?" 

The  Press  threw  defiantly  the  portrait  of 
its  candidate  for  mayor. 

"  Pull  the  String  and  See  it  Jump !  "  from 
The  Chronicle. 

Behind  The  Press  stereopticon  a  telephone 
jingled,  telegraph  instruments  clicked,  men 
wrote  busily  at  a  long  table  under  a  row  of 
pendent  electric  lights  that  swayed  in  the 
draught. 

A  large  man  came  in,  panting.  His  short 
coat  swung  back  under  his  arm-pits,  away 
from  the  vast  curve  of  his  waistcoat.  He 
had  a  falling  moustache  and  a  round  face. 

"Vere  iss  Vood?  So!"  He  peered 
curiously  into  the  darker  room.  "  Vere 
iss " 


Tecumseh  Street  91 

"  Come  along,  Freiburger,"  said  Wood. 
"Pull  up  a  chair.  Well — how's  your  Ward  ? 
All  quiet?" 

Freiburger  settled  into  a  chair  with  the 
same  caution. 

"  Oh,  yes,  quviet.    Not  shtill,  but  quviet." 

"What's  the  difference  between  '  still' 
and  '  quiet '  ?  "  asked  Hennion. 

"  Veil,  it  vass  drunk,  und  someone  vass 
punch  Cahn  der  barber's  nose,  but  not  me." 

"  You  call  it  quiet  till  somebody  hits 
you?" 

"  Vy  should  he  hit  me  ?  "  cried  Freiburger 
indignantly. 

"  He  shouldn't,"  said  Hennion. 

"  No !  Veil,  it  vass  not  shtill,  but  quviet. 
Ach ! "  sadly,  "  ven  a  man  iss  drunk,  vy 
don't  he  shleep?" 

"  He  wants  to  stay  awake  and  enjoy  it." 

Freiburger  shook  his  head  slowly  and  felt 
of  his  nose,  as  if  to  be  quite  sure  before  tak 
ing  the  responsibility  of  repeating  the  state 
ment. 


92  Tecumsch  Street 

"  It  vass  Cahn.     It  vass  not  me." 

Wood  sat  silently,  looking  through  the 
window  to  where  the  stereopticons  flashed 
over  the  crowd's  changing  emotions,  half 
listening  to  the  conversation  near  him. 
Freiburger  peered  anxiously  at  him  in  the 
dusk.  His  mind  was  trembling  with  the 
thrill  and  tumult  of  the  day,  longing  that 
Wood  might  say  something,  utter  some 
sentence  that  it  might  cling  to,  clasp  about 
with  comprehension,  and  be  safe  from  wan 
dering,  unguaranteed  ideas.  Hennion 
seemed  interested  in  examining  Freiburger's 
soul. 

"  Freiburger,  you're  as  honest  a  man  as  I 
know." 

"  Veil,  yes,  I'm  honest.  I  don't  know 
who  you  know." 

"You  never  owed  a  dollar  you  didn't 
pay." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  don'  do  it." 

"Business  fair?" 

"  Oh,  yes." 


Tecumseh  Street 


93 


"  Well,  what  did  you  want  to  get  on  the 
Council  for  ?  " 

"  Oh !  Veil !  It  vass  goot  for  business." 
He  seemed  pleased  to  talk  about  this,  but 
expression  was  a  matter  of  labour  and  excite 
ment.  "  Veil !  You  see !  Die  boys  sie 
come  at  Freiburger's  saloon,  und  I  know 
'em  all  on  Maple  Street  und  der  Fourt 
Vard.  Und  nights  at  Freiburger's  I  hear 
von  der  shobs  und  der  Union  und  der  prices. 
Und  sie  tell  me  vy  der  carriage  factory  strike. 
Und  sie  tell  me  Hennion  iss  a  shquvare  man, 
und  Vood  vill  do  as  he  say  he  vill  do,  und 
Shamieson  in  der  freight  yards  iss  a  hog, 
und  Ranald  Cam  iss  make  money,  und  Fater 
Harra  iss  teach  HI'  boys  fight  mit  gloves  in 
St.  Catherine's  parochial  school  und  bleed 
der  badness  out  of  der  kleine  noses.  Und 
sie  say,  '  I  loss  my  shob,  Freiburger ! ' 
1  My  HI'  boy  sick,  Freiburger.'  Ach,  so! 
All  dings  in  der  Vard  iss  tell  me.  Veil  now, 
aber,  look  here !  I  am  a  Councilman.  Der 
iss  no  man  so  big  on  Maple  Street  as  Fater 


94  Tecumseh  Street 

Harra  und  me,  und  Freiburger's  iss  head- 
quaverters  of  der  Yard,  und  das  iss  goot  for 
business." 

"  That's  all  right.  I  see  your  point.  But 
the  Council  isn't  supposed  to  be  an  adjunct 
to  the  different  councilmen's  business,  is  it? 
I  suppose  the  Ward  understood  itself  to  be 
trusting  its  interests  in  your  hands,  don't 
you  ?  and  you're  a  sort  of  guardian  and  trus 
tee  for  the  city,  aren't  you?  Seems  as  if 
that  would  take  a  good  deal  of  time  and 
worry,  because  you'd  want  to  be  sure  you 
were  doing  right  by  the  city  and  the  Ward, 
and  it's  a  complicated  affair  you  have  to  look 
after,  and  a  lot  of  people's  interests  at  stake." 

Wood  stirred  slightly  in  his  chair,  partly 
with  pleasure  at  the  humour  of  it,  partly  with 
uneasiness.  It  was  all  right  for  Hennion  to 
examine  the  Freiburger  soul,  if  he  liked, 
but  to  cast  on  its  smooth  seas  such  wide- 
stirring,  windy  ideas  seemed  unkind  to 
Freiburger. 

Freiburger  puffed  heavily  in  the  darkness. 


Tecumseh  Street  95 

The  excitement  of  expressing  himself  sub 
sided,  and  Hennion's  idea  opened  before  him, 
a  black  gulf  into  which  he  could  for  a  while 
only  stare  dubiously.  His  mind  reached 
out  vaguely  for  something  familiar  to  cling 
to. 

"  Veil — I  don'  know — die  boys  and  Fater 
Harra  und — Mein  Gott !  I  ask  Vood !  " 
He  puffed  heavily  again  after  the  struggle 
and  triumph. 

"  Couldn't  do  better.  It's  what  your 
boys  expect  of  you  anyhow." 

And  Hennion  returned  to  his  silence. 
Freiburger's  soul  glowed  peacefully  once 
more. 

"  It  iss  Vood's  business,  hein  ?  " 

He  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  the 
impassive,  self-controlled  men.  He  wanted 
Wood  to  say  something  that  he  could  carry 
away  for  law  and  wisdom  and  conviction, 
something  to  which  other  ideas  might  be 
fitted  and  referred.  He  had  the  inverte 
brate  instinct  of  a  mollusk  to  cling  to  some- 


96  Tecumseh  Street 

thing  not  itself,  something  rooted  and  un- 
driven,  in  the  sea. 

"  You've  done  well,  Freiburger,"  said 
Wood,  rousing  himself.  "  Tell  the  boys 
they've  done  well.  Stay  by  your  beer  and 
don't  worry  till  the  keg's  dry." 

Freiburger  rolled  away,  murmuring  his 
message  loyally.  "  Stay  by  mem — a — mein 
keg's  dry." 

"  Freiburger  won't  cost  you  much,"  Hen- 
nion  murmured  after  a  while.  Wood  swung 
softly  in  his  chair. 

"  Got  something  on  your  mind,  ain't  you, 
Dick?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  Of  course.  But  I  don't  know 
what  it  is.  I've  fished  for  it  till  I'm  tired. 
I've  analysed  Freiburger,  and  didn't  get 
much.  Now  I'd  like  to  examine  your  soul 
in  a  strong  chemical  solution.  Maybe  I'm 
a  bit  embarrassed." 

Wood  chuckled.  "Go  ahead.  Most 
men  '11  lie,  if  you  give  'em  time  to  rearrange 
their  ideas.  Well — it  won't  take  me  so 


Tecumseh  Street 


97 


long."  His  manner  became  genial. 
"  You've  got  a  good  head,  Dick.  Well — 
I'll  tell  what  I'm  thinking.  It's  this.  The 
old  man  '11  have  to  drop  his  job  one  of  these 
days,  and — if  you're  feeling  for  pointers — I 
don't  say  you  are,  but  supposing  you  are — I 
don't  mind  saying  I  shall  back  you  to  head 
the  organization.  Maybe — well, — in  fact,  I 
don't  suppose  there's  much  money  in  it  you'd 
care  to  touch — maybe  there  ain't  any — but 
there's  a  place  for  the  right  man.  I  like 
you.  I  liked  your  father.  He  was  built 
something  your  way.  The  boys  want  some 
body  over  'em  that  won't  wriggle  off  the 
safety  valve,  and  knows  how  to  pick  up 
punkins  peacefully  as  they  come.  This 
First  Ward  business — well,  you've  got  a 
pretty  good  grip  through  the  crowd  to  begin 
with." 

"  Now  there ! "  broke  in  Hennion. 
"  You  and  Aidee  are  both  trying  to  do  the 
same  thing.  You  want  to  get  me  into  poli 
tics.  I  don't  care  for  your  primaries  and 


98  Tecumseh  Street 

committees.  I  don't  see  ten  cents'  difference 
to  the  city  which  party  runs  it.  I  dare  say 
whoever  runs  it  expects  to  make  a  living 
out  of  it.  Why  do  you  both  come  to 
me?" 

"  I  guess  we've  both  got  an  idea  you're 
useful." 

Hennion  thought  a  moment  and  then 
spoke  more  quietly. 

"  Henry  Champney  used  to  boss  this  sec 
tion.  He  did  it  from  the  platform  instead 
of  the  committee  room.  And  my  father 
handled  bigger  contracts  than  I've  touched 
yet.  But  Champney  didn't  ask  him  to  run 
his  canal  into  the  next  caucus,  or  furnish 
stray  batches  of  constituents  with  jobs. 
Understand,  I'm  not  grumbling  about  the 
last.  Champney  stayed  on  his  platform, 
and  my  father  stayed  in  his  big  ditch  and 
dug.  The  proper  thing  now  seems  to  be  for 
everybody  to  get  into  the  street  and  row 
around  together.  Here's  Aidee  too  thinks 
he's  got  to  jump  into  it  now,  and  take  with 


Tecumseh  Street  99 

him — take  with  him  everything  he  can 
reach/' 

"  That's  straight/'  murmured  Wood. 
"  So  they  do." 

"  Yes,  and  I  call  off,  myself." 

"  All  right.  I  was  only  guessing  what 
you  had  in  your  mind.  Well — it's  business 
sets  the  pace  nowadays.  'Most  everything 
else  has  to  catch  its  gait  or  be  left.  I  re 
member  Champney  forty  years  gone.  He 
was  a  fine  picture,  when  he  got  up  and  spread 
himself.  He  didn't  do  anything  that's  here 
now,  unless  it's  a  volume  of  his  speeches, 
congressional  and  occasional.  Not  much. 
He  kept  us  all  whooping  for  Harry  Clay. 
Well — Clay's  dead,  Whig  Party  and  Com 
promises  and  all  burnt  up.  Your  father 
built  sixty  miles  of  canal.  Canal  stock's 
pretty  dead  now,  but  that's  not  his  fault. 
He  laid  a  few  thousand  miles  of  railroad, 
went  around  this  place  and  that,  cleaning  up 
the  country.  Several  million  people  travel 
his  railroads  and  walk  his  bridges.  Any- 


ioo  Tecumseh  Street 

body  ever  call  him  a  great  man  like  Henry 
Champney?  Gone  little  he  cared  if  they  did 
or  didn't.  He  and  his  like  were  a  sight 
more  important.  Well — no;  Champney 
didn't  ask  favours  of  anybody  in  those  days. 
And  he  didn't  ask  votes.  They  shovelled 
'em  at  him,  and  he  went  on  telling  'em  the 
Constitution  was  the  foundation  of  America, 
and  Harry  Clay  the  steeple.  They  weren't. 
Rick  Hennion  and  his  like  were  the  founda 
tion,  and  there  wasn't  any  steeple.  If  you 
ask  what  they're  all  rowing  round  in  the 
street  for  now,  why,  I  don't  know.  I  guess 
they've  all  found  out  the  point's  got  to  be 
fought  out  there  or  nowhere.  Well — better 
think  over  what  I  was  telling  you,  Dick. 
You're  Rick  Hennion's  son.  Well — it's 
none  of  my  business — but — I'd  gone  like  to 
see  you  old  Champney 's  son-in-law — if 
that's  it.  I  believed  in  Champney  once,  and 
shouted  for  Clay,  and  thought  there  was 
something  in  it.  I  did,  that's  a  fact.  I'd 
lock  horns  with  any  other  bull  then,  and 


Tecumseh  Street  101 

swear  my  name  was  Righteousness  and  his 
was  Sin."  -f  '  /;,  :  ::•  VV^- 

"  Well,  but  Champney " 

"Yes— Champney!" 

"  When  he  turned  a  vote,  it  meant  he'd 
persuaded  a  man,  didn't  it?  " 

"  Yes — Champney !  His  best  argument 
was  a  particular  chest  tone.  If  I  tell  a  man, 
'  Hullo,  Jimmy ! '  and  give  him  a  cigar,  it's 
as  reasonable  as  a  chest  tone." 

"  It's  not  in  my  line,  Wood/'  said  Hen- 
nion  after  a  silence.  "  What  makes  you  so 
down?  You're  not  old." 

"  Going  on  seventy,  Dick."  Wood's 
mood  seemed  more  than  usually  frank  and 
talkative.  He  seemed  to  be  smoothing  out 
the  creases  in  his  mind,  hunting  into  corners 
that  he  hardly  knew  himself,  showing  a  cer 
tain  wistfulness  to  explain  his  conception  of 
things,  complex  and  crumpled  by  the  wear 
and  pressures  of  a  long  life,  possibly  taking 
Hennion  to  represent  some  remembrance 
that  he  would  like  to  be  friends  with  after 


102  Tecumseh  Street 


long  estrangement,  and  in  that  way  pleading 
-v^th  his.  own  ,'V.outh  to  think  kindly  of  him. 
Or  it  might  have  been  he  was  thinking  of 
"  Rick "  Hennion,  who  helped  him  forty 
years  before,  and  stayed  with  him  longest  of 
worn-out  ideals. 

There  was  a  rush  of  feet  and  clamour  of 
voices  in  the  press-room. 

"Wood!     Wood!" 

"  First  Ward." 

"  Thrown  out  forty  votes." 

"  Wouldn't  do  what  you  told  'em." 

The  little  room  was  jammed  with  men, 
thinned  out,  and  jammed  again.  The 
electric  light  flashed  up. 

"What's  to  pay  now?" 

The  Chronicle  flung  its  bold  cone  of  light 
and  glaring  challenge  across  the  street.  It 
seemed  to  strike  the  canvas  with  a  slap. 

"  Forty  Reform  votes  thrown  out  in  ist 
Ward.  Fraud!" 

A  hush  fell  on  Tecumseh  Street.  Then 
a  roar  went  up  that  seemed  to  shake  the 


Tecumseh  Street  103 

buildings.  Tecumseh  Street  thundered  be 
low,  monstrous  and  elemental,  and  trembled 
above  like  a  resonant  drum.  The  mob  rolled 
against  the  brick  front  of  the  block  like  a 
surf  that  might  be  expected  to  splash  any 
moment  up  the  flat  perpendicular.  Grey 
helmets  of  policemen  tossed  on  the  surface. 
Faces  were  yellow  and  greenish-white  in  the 
mingled  electric-light  and  moonlight.  Fists 
and  spread  hands  were  shaken  at  The  Press 
windows.  Five  or  six  heads  were  in  the 
window  of  the  little  room.  Wood's  face 
was  plain  to  make  out  by  his  grey  shovel- 
beard.  They  shouted  comments  in  each 
other's  ears. 

"  It's  a  riot." 

"No!" 

"  Looks  like  the  bottom  of  hell,  don't  it?  " 

Then  a  little  spit  of  smoke  and  flame 
darted  like  a  snake's  tongue  between  the  ad 
vertising  boards,  seven  feet  above  the  side 
walk.  There  was  a  sharp  crack  that  only 
the  nearest  heard. 


IO4  Tecumseh  Street 

Wood  flung  up  his  hand,  pitched  forward, 
and  hung  half  over  the  window  sill. 

Someone  directly  beneath,  looking  up,  saw 
a  head  hanging,  felt  a  drop  splash  on  his 
face,  and  drew  back  wincing. 

The  thrill  and  hush  spread  from  the  cen 
tre.  It  ran  whisperingly  over  the  mass. 
The  roar  died  away  in  the  distance  to  right 
and  left.  Tecumseh  Street  was  still,  except 
for  the  crash  where  a  policeman  tore  a  board 
from  the  advertisements  with  a  heave  of 
burly  shoulders,  and  plunged  through  into 
the  darkness  of  empty  lots. 

The  little  room  above  was  now  crowded 
and  silent,  like  the  street.  They  laid  Wood 
on  the  table  with  a  coat  under  his  head. 
He  coughed  and  blinked  his  eyes  at  the 
familiar  faces,  leaning  over  him,  strained 
and  staring. 

"  You  boys  are  foolish.  Charlie  Carroll — 
I  want; — take  Hennion — Ranald  Cam,  you 
hear  me!  Becket — Tuttle." 

It  was  like  a  Roman  emperor  dispensing 


Tecumseh  Street  105 

the  succession,  some  worn  Augustus  leaving 
historic  counsel  out  of  his  experience  of 
good  and  evil  and  the  cross-breeds  of  expe 
diency — meaning  by  good,  good  for  some 
thing,  and  by  evil,  good  for  nothing. 

"  Seems  queer  to  be  plugged  at  my  time 
of  life.  Take  Hennion.  You  ain't  got  any 
heads.  Dick!" 

Hennion  stood  over  him.  Wood  looked 
up  wistfully,  as  if  there  were  something  he 
would  like  to  explain. 

"  The  game's  up  to  you,  Dick.  I  played 
it  the  only  way  I  knew  how." 

The  moon  floated  clear  above  the  street, 
and  mild  and  speculative.  Ten  minutes 
passed,  twenty,  thirty.  The  mass  began  to 
sway  and  murmur,  then  caught  sight  of 
Carroll  in  the  window,  lifting  his  hand,  and 
was  quiet. 

"  Gentlemen,  Mr.  Wood  is  dead." 

For  a  moment  there  was  hardly  a  motion. 
Then  the  crowd  melted  away,  shuffling  and 
murmuring,  into  half  a  score  of  dim  streets. 


CHAPTER  VI 
Blcott  Btoee 

THE  Sexton  Avenue  Assembly  hall  was 
a  large  building  of  red  brick,  with 
wide  windows  and  a  tower  full  of  bells, 
and  Aidee  lived  across  the  Avenue  in  a 
block  of  bay-windowed  houses  painted  grey, 
the  third  house  from  the  corner.  Aidee 
rented  rooms  on  the  floor  above  the  draw 
ing-room,  but  his  study  was  in  the  Assembly 
building.  The  house  belonged  to  one  Mrs. 
Tillotson,  sometime  wife  of  one  Colonel 
Tillotson.  She  wrote  articles  for  The 
Chronicle,  and  verses  which  were  military 
at  one  time,  nay,  even  ferocious,  which  af 
terward  reflected  her  pensioned  widowhood, 
and  now  reflected  Aidee.  She  hoped  her 
drawing-room  might  be  the  intellectual 
nucleus  of  the  Assembly.  She  was  tall,  thin, 
grey-haired,  and  impressive. 

The  people  who  gathered  in  Mrs.  Tillot- 
106 


Alcott  Aidee  107 

son's  drawing-room  were  mainly  a  kind  of 
mental  driftwood,   caught  in  the   Aideean 
swirl  and  backwater,  but  some  of  them  were 
more  salient.     There  was  Emil  Ralbeck,  the 
Assembly    organist,     a    small    blond    and 
smoothly  bearded  man  with  a  pudgy  nose, 
who  delivered  harsh  language  melodiously, 
denounced     classes     and    aggregations     of 
capital,  and  while  not  advocating  slaughter, 
yet    prophesied    it.     There    was     Thomas 
Berry,  whose  theme  was  brotherly  love  and 
the  Golden  Rule.  Crime,  he  said,  was  mainly 
the  creation  of  Law.     He  lay  on  the  sofa, 
and  rumpled  his  hair,  and  wished  all  human 
beings  to  call  him  "  Tom."     He  had  fleshy 
flowing  outlines,  a  heavy  shaven  face,  and  a 
leaden  grey  eye.     There  was  Alberta  Keys, 
a  small,  trim,  blue-eyed  damsel,  who  thirsted 
for  excitement  of  the  soul  and  resembled  a 
Maltese  kitten;  and  a  large,  good-looking, 
surprised,  hesitating  young  man,  who  fol 
lowed  in  her  trail,  Ted  Secor,  son  of  T.  M. 
Secor,  the  owner  of  mines  and  rolling  mills. 


io8  Alcott  Aidee 

T.  M.  S.  had  financed  the  Assembly  in  the 
beginning,  either  because  he  liked  Aidee,  or 
liked  sport,  or  both.  The  bloom  of  un 
troubled  health  was  on  Ted  Secor's  cheek. 
Hard  drinks  and  ballet  girls  had  suddenly 
faded  from  his  mind  of  late,  and  he  followed 
Alberta  Keys  in  dazed  submission  into  Mrs. 
Tillotson's  drawing-room,  and  believed  his 
mind  now  set  forever  on  higher  things. 
These,  and  others  less  salient,  met  in  Mrs. 
Tillotson's  drawing-room,  and  held  con 
versation. 

Her  furnishings  hinted  at  luxury  by 
means  of  sofa  cushions,  at  art  by  means  of 
pictures  resting  unconventionally  on  easels, 
and  at  literature  by  the  skilfully  careless 
distribution  of  books.  A  fireplace  with 
natural  gas  and  asbestos  seemed  to  say, 
"With  all  this  we  are  modern,  intensely 
modern." 

Aidee's  father  had  been  a  circuit 
preacher  of  New  England  birth,  a  man  of 


Alcott  Aidee  109 

radical  statements,  who  declared  that  the 
subsidence  of  Puritanism  there  had  left  it 
spiritually  dead.  Being  a  man  of  radical 
action,  he  came  to  the  Middle  West  in  the 
early  forties,  and  spent  the  rest  of  his  life  in 
the  wake  of  the  frontier.  He  died  at  about 
the  end  of  the  war,  leaving  two  sons  aged 
twelve  and  eight,  Alcott  and  Allen  Aidee, 
"Al  "  and  "  Lolly,"  on  a  small  farm  in  the 
prairie.  The  mother  died  soon  after,  on  the 
same  small  farm. 

The  story  of  the  two  brothers  ran  on  for 
some  twenty  years  together,  and  then  split 
apart.  It  involved  school,  school-teaching 
by  the  elder,  in  that  straggling  but  populous 
prairie  town,  and  the  pursuit  of  trouble  by 
the  younger.  Alcott  developed  political  and 
religious  opinions  objected  to  by  school  com 
missioners,  and  a  barn  belonging  to  a  school 
commissioner  was  fired  in  consequence  by 
Allen.  It  was  enough.  They  left  it  all 
suddenly,  their  native  town  and  the  stumpy 
fields  of  their  farm,  the  corn  lot,  the  muddy 


no  Alcott  Aidee 

creek,  the  brick  schoolhouse  that  was  so 
proud  of  its  two  stories  and  three  grades  of 
scholars.  A  newspaper  period  followed  in 
a  disorderly  city  on  the  Mississippi,  where 
Allen  enjoyed  himself  prodigally,  and  the 
finances  of  the  brothers  went  to  pieces. 
Allen's  endeavour  to  improve  their  finances 
led  him  to  a  barred  and  solitary  cell.  Alcott 
was  at  the  door  of  the  prison  when  he  came 
out. 

"Let  me  go!  Oh,  Al!"  pleaded  the 
younger,  "  Kick  me  out !  " 

"  We'll  go  west,"  said  Alcott.  "  Come 
on,  Lolly.  Never  mind." 

But  Allen  took  the  issue  in  his  own  freak 
ish  hands,  and  disappeared,  a  weak-willed 
youth,  yet  secret  and  sudden,  reckless,  vio 
lent,  fierce,  affectionate.  Alcott  thought  no 
adjectives  about  him,  but  followed  him  to 
Nevada,  and  there  lost  his  trail ;  there  staked 
a  claim  and  dug  a  pit,  like  other  men,  in 
search  of  the  flecked  ore;  there  fell  in 
with  a  circuit-riding  bishop,  and  began  mak- 


Alcott  Aidee  1 1 1 

ing  speeches  to  heavily  armed  miners. 
There  he  found  his  wrapped-up  talent,  his 
gift  of  moving  men. 

"  You've  got  no  beliefs  that  I  can  make 
head  or  tail  of.  Eccentric  youth,"  said  the 
hard-riding  bishop,  "  go  ahead !  " 

There  he  met  T.  M.  Secor,  that  breezy 
money-maker  and  man  of  level  horizons,  who 
bore  other  resemblances  to  a  prairie;  who 
listened  in  astonishment  to  Alcott's  torrent 
of  extraordinary  language,  delivered  in  an 
ore  shed  from  the  tail  of  a  dump  cart. 

"  By  gad,  sonny,  you  can  talk  tall !  "  said 
T.  M.  S.  "  Want  to  bombard  hell,  do  you? 
Got  any  idea  where  it  is  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Ho!     You  have!" 

"  Some  hot  chunks  of  it  in  this  town." 

"  You  don't  say !  Look  here !  You  come 
back  to  my  place  in  Port  Argent,  and  I'll 
build  you  a  church.  We'll  raise  a  congre 
gation  or  blow  the  roof  off.  What  church 
are  you,  anyhow  ?  " 


1 1 2  Alcott  Aidee 

"  I'm  no  church.     I'm  a  freak." 

"Ho!     You  don't  say!" 

"  I'm  a  voice  in  the  wilderness  crying : 
The  kingdom  of  God  is  lost,  strayed,  and 
stolen.  Help  me  find  my  brother." 

But  they  did  not  find  him. 

Such  was  the  outward  story  of  Alcott 
Aidee. 

But  the  outward  story  of  a  man  is  the 
wind-blown  rippled  surface  of  him.  The 
current  and  true  action  are  below.  How  can 
it  be  told  ?  There  was  a  love  lying  between 
two  brothers,  unreasoning  and  indomitable, 
which  followed  them  up  through  their  zig 
zag  careers,  and  left  with  the  elder  a  burden 
and  a  bleeding  sore.  There  was  some  maze 
of  impulse,  impatience,  and  remorse,  out  of 
whose  dusky  tangle  it  arose  that  Allen  cut 
himself  loose  like  a  broken  spar.  Who  shall 
pick  the  tangle  apart  ?  "  Evil  and  good  may 
be  better  or  worse,"  but  the  "  mixture  of 
each  is  a  marvel,"  says  the  penetrative 
poet.  Why  a  marvel  ?  Not  from  the  strange- 


Alcott  Aidee 


ness  of  unuse,  if  they  came  so  unmixed  in 
the  use  and  custom  of  things.  Remorse 
there  was,  and  irritated  impatience,  in  Allen, 
no  doubt. 

"  The  Inner  Republic,"  wrote  Alcott  af 
terwards  in  the  grey  volume  of  that  title.. 
"  has  this  peril  to  its  liberties,  that  love  there 
tends  to  become  a  tyranny." 

In  Alcott's  long  thirst  after  knowledge, 
and  his  midnight  studies,  it  is  certain  that 
something  peculiar  in  his  own  nature  lit  the 
pages  before  him,  with  another  light  than 
that  of  his  dim  oil  lamp.  In  the  same  grey 
volume,  which  troubled  Henry  Champney 
with  premonitions,  we  read,  near  the  begin 
ning  of  Chapter  XVIIL,  entitled  "  Light  "  : 

"  Two  lamps  have  mainly  given  me  what 
light  I  have.  I  suppose  many  men,  if  not 
every  man,  has  known  them.  One  seemed  to 
shine  from  overhead,  a  hanging  flicker  be 
coming  a  larger  glow, — the  Lamp  of  Knowl 
edge.  There  are  no  better  moments  than 
when  its  flame  leaps  at  the  opening  of  a 


H4  Alcott  Aidee 

new  vista.  The  other  has  seemed  to  rise 
out  of  the  deeps  beneath  me,  out  of  anger 
and  brooding  and  pain,  and  by  it  I  hope  to 
find  my  brother  in  my  neighbour.  Two 
lamps — the  Lamp  of  Knowledge,  and  the 
Lamp  of  Sorrow." 

So  the  Seton  Avenue  Hall  was  built,  and 
thronged  now  with  a  shifting  multitude.  It 
was  a  time,  a  land,  and  a  section  of  many 
an  undenominated  thing.  Many  a  religious 
or  social  movement  started  up  impulsively, 
and  died  on  the  spot  without  going  beyond 
its  seed  bed.  Some  were  hardier  and  more 
fertile,  some  curious,  some  famous,  and  some 
are  with  us  still. 

"  Classifications  of  men  are  all  false,"  de 
clared  Aidee.  "  Everyone  is  an  elemental 
unit." 

If  he  had  a  mind  to  be  ignorant  of  whether 
he  was  clerical  or  not,  and  to  care  less,  to  be 
indifferent  to  all  names  that  were  applied  to 
him,  Port  Argent  had  no  call  to  be  wiser. 
T.  M.  Secor  was  said  to  be  backing  the  As- 


Alcott  Aidee  1 1 5 

sembly.  In  that  case  he  would  be  apt  to  set 
up  something  in  opposition  next,  and  gamble 
on  both  sides.  Aidee  presently  fell  tooth 
and  nail  on  local  politics,  and  Port  Argent 
saw  a  solution  of  the  mystery. 

"  T.  M.'s  got  a  hawk-eye  for  excitement," 
it  remarked,  and  went  its  way.  Secor  built 
the  hall  for  Aidee,  and  built  it  handsomely. 
The  Seton  Avenue  Assembly  became  an  ac 
cepted  element  in  the  hurrying  city.  Port 
Argent  concluded  that  Aidee  was  rather 
worth  while.  A  black-eyed,  pallid  man  it 
found  him,  concentrated,  sharp,  decided, 
with  an  instinct  for  rhetorical  speech,  a 
gift  for  vivid,  understandable  language.  It 
counted  him  a  definite  object,  a  something 
ponderable.  But  off  the  platform  it  found 
him  rather  repellent. 

The  Assembly  was  an  incorporated  organ 
isation,  whose  creed  in  early  days  had  been 
Aidee's  latest  speech,  whose  activity  in  mu 
nicipal  politics  started  the  Independent  Re 
form  Party;  which  party  was  backed  by  one 


1 1 6  Alcott  Aidee 

newspaper,  The  Chronicle,  and  sometimes 
elected  a  few  councilmen,  sometimes  a  good 
many.  The  cynical  in  Port  Argent  said  that 
the  Independent  Reform  Party  was  dying  of 
indigestion,  brought  on  by  over-eating  of  a 
diet  of  too  many  ideas,  too  highly  seasoned 
and  disagreeing;  that  the  Assembly  was  a 
sort  of  tintinabular  tin  can  tied  to  a  rapid  and 
eloquent  canine.  The  cynical  perhaps  over 
stated  it.  They  generally  do. 

Of  the  throng  which  faced  Aidee  from 
week  to  week  some  faces  became  familiar, 
but  most  of  them  seemed  to  him  indistinct 
and  changing.  He  walked  much  about  the 
city,  watching  faces — dingy  and  blurred 
faces,  hurried  and  anxious  faces,  open  and 
clear-eyed  faces.  "  There's  no  equality  among 
men,  but  there's  a  family  likeness,"  he  said. 
It  grew  to  be  a  kind  of  emotional  luxury, 
yet  he  made  few  friends  among  them.  Per 
sonally,  he  was  rather  solitary.  When  he 
tested  his  feelings  about  other  men  by  too 
much  direct  contact  with  them,  they  put  him 


Alcott  Aidee  117 

out.  He  looked  at  them  hungrily  from  a 
distance.  Port  Argent  did  not  find  him  com 
panionable.  His  solitude  suited  his  tem 
perament,  but  troubled  his  conscience. 

Mrs.  Tillotson  found  him  the  key  to  her 
social  aspirations.  Her  aspirations  some 
times  drove  him  to  think  well  of  a  tower  of 
clamouring  bells  for  a  place  of  residence. 

He  fancied  himself  settled.  Here  was 
his  work,  his  big  brick  hall  with  its  plat 
form,  and  opening  off  its  narrow  side  en 
trance  was  his  wide-windowed  study.  Here 
he  would  write  his  books  and  speak  his 
mind,  scatter  his  seed,  and  let  the  wind  and 
sun  take  care  of  it.  A  man  could  do  no 
more  than  throw  his  personality  into  the 
welter  of  things,  and  leave  the  worth  of  it 
to  other  decisions  than  his  own.  Here  his 
travels  were  ended,  except  as  one's  soul  trav 
elled  onward,  spaceless  and  timeless. 

In  this  spiritual  kind  of  travelling  he 
seemed  ever  to  have  moved  by  two  concur 
rent  roads,  paths  now  rutted  and  worn,  run- 


1 1 8  Alcott  Aidee 

ning  into  and  overlapping  each  other.  One 
of  them  was  everywhere  marked  "Allen." 
Of  the  other,  the  Seton  Avenue  Assembly 
and  the  grey  volume,  "The  Inner  Republic," 
might  be  called  signboards,  or  statements  of 
condition.  Even  there  might  be  noted  the 
deep  groove  of  the  path  marked  "Allen," 
crossing  and  following  the  path  of  his  con 
victions  and  interpretations,  showing  itself 
here  and  there  in  some  touch  of  bitterness, 
some  personal  sense  of  the  confusion  and 
mockery  of  life,  in  a  feeling  for  dishonoured 
humanity  as  if  it  were  a  personal  dishonour, 
and  so  in  a  passionate  championship  of 
wrecked  and  aimless  people.  He  spoke  of 
them  as  if  they  were  private  and  near.  One 
champions  kindred  with  little  question  of 
their  deserts.  This  was  part  of  the  secret 
of  Alcott's  power  on  the  platform.  Over  his 
success,  as  well  as  his  failures,  was  written 
"Allen." 

"Why  do  you  go  apart  from  me?"  he 
asks  in  the  grey  volume.    "Are  you  sensual, 


Alcott  Aidee  1 1 9 

thievish,  violent,  irresponsible?  I  am  sen 
sual,  thievish,  violent,  irresponsible.  If  it 
troubles  you  that  my  coat  is  too  new  and 
my  books  too  many,  I  will  burn  them 
and  sit  down  in  the  gutter.  It  does  not 
matter.  Nothing  matters  except  that  you 
walk  apart  from  me.  For  though  I  know 
that  some  effort  one  must  make,  somehow 
conspire  to  grasp  this  sorry  scheme  of  things 
and  remould  it  nearer  to  the  heart's  desire, 
yet  I  am  no  socialist.  I  know  that  the  evil  is 
not  social,  but  human, — and  I  know  not  how 
I  shall  grasp  it  if  we  go  apart." 

The  groove  of  the  path  marked  "Allen  " 
seems  plain  enough  here.  Allen,  present, 
had  wrecked  his  life  more  than  once.  Allen, 
lost,  gave  his  speech  the  passion  that  gave 
it  power.  Mixed  impatience  and  remorse 
drove  Allen  to  cast  himself  loose,  a  broken 
spar,  to  disappear  over  the  next  wave. 
Alcott  hungered  and  thirsted  to  find  him 
again.  Allen  had  ruined  his  career;  and 
Allen  had  made  for  himself  his  career;  there 


1 20  Alcott  Aidee 

was  no  jest  in  that  irony.  The  coloured 
thread  "Allen  "  was  woven  so  thickly  into 
the  woof  of  his  life  that  it  tinged  the  whole 
pattern. 

The  day  after  the  death  of  Wood 
Alcott  passed  through  Bank  Street  and  met 
Charlie  Carroll,  that  valuable  and  spasmodic 
editor.  Carroll  glittered  with  malice. 

"  Say,  that  man's  name  was  Hicks." 

"What  of  it?" 

"  Why,  he's  one  of  your  heelers." 

"  Don't  know  him." 

"  Didn't  you  ever  see  him  ?  Well,  Tom 
Berry  knows  him.  He  lived  in  Muscadine 
Street,  over  the  river.  Tom  Berry  says  he 
used  to  sit  'way  back  under  your  gallery, 
curled  up  like  a  muskrat,  eating  his  beard 
and  drinking  eloquence  like  raw  brandy. 
Say,  he  looks  like  it." 

"Do  you  think  I  recommended  him  to 
shoot  Wood  ? " 

"  Well,  not  exactly." 


Alcott  Aidee  121 

"  Been  writing  some  buckshot  paragraphs 
on  me,  then?  " 

Carroll  shook  his  head. 
"  Don't  know  how  it  is.  Down  with  the 
devil !  Hicks,  go  shoot  Wood !  Never  saw  a 
man  like  you  to  make  a  general  remark 
sound  so  blanked  particular.  No,  but  I'm 
going  to  soak  you  six  to-morrow,  you 
bet." 

Carroll  laughed  and  flitted  away. 
Aidee  sat  brooding  and  troubled  in  his 
study  that  afternoon.  Nobody  cared  what 
Carroll  said.  Carroll  could  not  hurt  him. 
A  man  was  not  his  brother's  keeper  any  fur 
ther  than  he  could  keep  him.  It  was  his 
business  to  do  his  best,  and  not  cultivate 
an  invalid  conscience.  Wood  had  been  a 
likeable  man.  Whatever  his  qualities,  he 
had  a  right  to  his  life.  Aidee  had  seen  men 
drop  and  die  in  Nevada  of  sudden  holes 
through  the  chest.  If  somebody  from  the 
Third  Ward  undertook  to  emphasize  Car 
roll's  paragraphs  by  applying  a  club  to 


122  Alcott  Aidee 

Alcott  Aidee,  it  would  be  no  business  of 
Carroll's  either,  whose  business  was  with  his 
paragraphs,  and  with  seeing  that  they  said 
what  he  meant,  or  that  he  meant  what  he 
caused  them  to  say. 

But  the  thing  tasted  badly. 

He  would  see  this  Hicks,  and  discover  at 
what  point  of  discipleship  a  man  translated 
"Down  with  the  devil!"  into  "Go  shoot 
Wood !  "  and  became  ready  to  take  another's 
life  and  give  over  his  own  in  exchange. 

He  stood  at  the  window  and  saw  Alberta 
Keys  enter  the  Tillotson  door,  followed  by 
Ted  Secor,  later  by  Ralbeck  and  Berry. 
They  would  be  sipping  Mrs.  Tillotson's  cof 
fee  presently,  and  discussing  the  Wood  mur 
der,  and  giving  voluble  opinions.  They 
were  driftwood  people.  Berry's  "  brotherly 
love "  was  a  personal  luxury  he  indulged 
himself  with,  a  billowy  divan  that  his  soul 
reclined  on.  He  had  both  brains  and  educa 
tion,  and  played  dolls  with  his  sympathies. 
Ralbeck  cursed  the  "  Standard  Oil "  by  way 


Alcott  Aidee  123 

of  relaxation,  his  earnest  business  in  this 
world  being  connected  with  thorough-bass. 
Mrs.  Tillotson's  pretence  was  only  a  little 
more  evident.  A  lot  of  zig-zag  waterflies ! 
That  poor  muddy  humanity  which  had  no 
opinions,  except  they  came  directly  out  of  its 
sins  and  pains,  was  better  than  these,  whose 
opinions  were  their  mental  entertainments. 
And  who  were  the  bulk  of  those  who  lis 
tened  to  him  weekly?  What  real  men  fol 
lowed  him  now  or  believed  in  him  utterly, 
except  some  poor  madman  like  the  murderer, 
Hicks  ?  The  masses  of  men  in  Port  Argent 
did  not  care  for  him,  Aidee.  They  liked 
Marve  Wood  better,  and  young  Hennion. 
He  knew  of  no  one  person  in  Port  Argent 
who  loved  Alcott  Aidee.  The  Assembly 
was  a  collection  of  the  half-curious,  the  half- 
sincere,  the  half-educated,  the  drunken  with 
a  little  philosophy;  some  driftwood  from  the 
churches,  and  a  percentage  of  socialists  from 
the  shops,  with  opinions  like  Scotch  plaids. 
What  dedication  was  there  in  any  of  them? 


124  Alcott  Aidee 

What  was  there  in  them  that  was  genuine, 
as  a  mother  with  her  child  is  genuine,  or  a 
man  at  his  set  task  and  knowledge  of  instant 
need?  It  was  one  of  Aidee's  dark  hours. 
The  Wood  murder  was  a  jarring  discord. 
One  could  not  deny  that. 

Ah,  there  came  times  to  every  man,  he 
thought,  whatever  his  success,  when  he 
looked  on  his  success  with  a  dull  dislike.  He 
remembered  one  day  in  Nevada,  when  he  had 
sat  unnoticed  hours  on  water-dribbled  rocks 
on  the  edge  of  his  claim — which  was  paying 
at  that  time — and  felt  the  same  mental  nau 
sea.  Another  time  was  at  Allen's  prison 
door  in  St.  Louis. 

Disillusion  was  no  more  rational  than  illu 
sion.  Sometimes  the  morning  stars  sang 
discordantly,  and  knew  not  why,  any  more 
than  they  knew  why  at  other  times  their 
voices  were  effortless  and  sweet. 

On  that  day  of  the  water-dribbled  rocks  of 
Nevada,  it  was  the  loss  of  Allen  which  had 
caused  the  mood,  and  the  thought  that  the 


Alcott  Aidee  125 

loss  was  final,  and  that  the  yellow  fleck  ore 
in  the  pit  paid  back  no  minutest  percentage 
of  the  loss.  Then  the  discovery  that  he  could 
speak  and  move  men  had  come,  and  brought 
with  it  the  longing  to  move  them  to  certain 
ends,  and  he  had  thought : 

"All  men  are  brothers.  But  some  are  lost 
and  some  are  seeking.  One  is  afraid  and  is 
condemned;  one  is  not  afraid  and  is  called 
righteous;  but  neither  of  them  can  save 
himself  alone;  he  can  only  do  it  because  of 
the  other.  He  can't  do  it  without  the  other, 
for  salvation  is  not  the  solitary  issue  they 
say  it  is.  Salvation  is  a  commonwealth. 
This  is  my  message."  Then  he  had  lifted 
himself  from  the  rocks  and  the  ore  pit,  and 
had  faith. 

Now,  if  faith  in  his  ends  should  fail,  and 
the  springs  dry  up!  Faith  and  doubt  were 
three-fourths  irrational.  Someone  would  be 
proving  them  bacteria.  They  passed  from 
man  to  man — they  floated  in  the  air — one 
caught  them  from  events  and  objects  as  one 


126  Alcott  Aidee 

caught  the  cholera — they  were  apt  to  be  epi 
demic. 

And  yet  faith  in  ends  and  purposes  was 
health,  and  doubt  of  them  disease.  The  one 
we  must  have,  the  other  we  must  be  rid  of. 

So  ran  Aidee's  thoughts  while  he  stood  at 
the  window  and  looked  out  gloomily  at  Seton 
Avenue,  at  its  block  pavement,  and  the 
shadows  thrown  by  the  pale  young  maple 
leaves.  He  saw  nothing  coming  but  a  street 
car,  a  headlong  rattling  mechanism.  He 
thought  how  all  over  Port  Argent  people 
were  talking  of  the  Wood  murder — some 
gabbling  about  it  like  Mrs.  Tillotson's 
guests,  others  saying,  decently  enough : 
"  Wood  always  treated  me  right,"  or,  "  Well, 
the  old  scamp's  gone !  " 

The  Wood  murder  seemed  an  abrupt  and 
challenging  event  thrust  across  his  life — 
harsh,  discordant,  repellent,  like  that  clang 
ing  mechanism  in  the  street,  which  stopped, 
however,  almost  before  Mrs.  Tillotson's 
door,  and  Camilla  Champney  stepped  down 


Alcott  Aidee  127 

from  it.  Aidee  watched  her  enter  the  house, 
and  then  fell  to  pacing  the  floor  restlessly. 
After  half  an  hour  he  took  his  hat  and 
went  across  the  street  to  the  Tillotson  draw 
ing-room. 


CHAPTER  VII 
Gbe  Gbirfc  3Lamp 

WHILE  Aidee  was  looking  gloomily 
from  his  study  window  on  Seton 
Avenue,  the  Tillotson  coterie  were  discuss 
ing  the  Wood  murder. 

"  Splendid  subject  for  a  poem,  Mrs.  Til 
lotson  !  "  cried  Ralbeck.  "  I  will  put  it  in 
music,  the  schema  thus — The  wronged  cry 
for  justice!  They  rise!  Staccato!  Spare 
not!  Fortissimo!  Triumph!  Victory!  Al- 
legro-mezzoforte ! " 

And  Berry  rumpled  his  hair  and  mur 
mured  :  "  Peace  and  coffee  at  Mrs.  Tillot- 
son's  afterwards.  Andante.  It's  rather 
nice." 

And  Mrs.  Tillotson  poured  coffee  from  her 

patent  coffee-pot,   saying  sternly  that  Mr. 

Aidee  never  countenanced  crime;  she  could 

not  bring  herself  either  to  countenance  crime. 

128 


The  Third  Lamp  129 

"  This  is  important,"  she  said.  "  We 
must  take  a  position.  We  must  insist  to  Mr. 
Aidee  on  a  position."  She  drew  herself  up 
and  paused.  "  People  will  ask  our  position." 

Alberta  opened  her  soft  blue  eyes  widely. 
"  Will  you  write  a  poem  about  Wood  and 
Hicks,  really?" 

"  My  dear,  what  is  your  opinion?  "  Mrs. 
Tillotson  asked. 

"  Scrumptious !  "  said  Alberta. 

Mrs.  Tillotson  hesitated. 

"  I  will  consult  Mr.  Aidee.  The  Assembly 
must  take  a  position." 

It  was  Mrs.  Tillotson's  latest  theory  that 
she  was  the  power  behind  the  throne.  Genius 
must  be  supported,  guided,  controlled.  She 
referred  to  Chateaubriand  and  Madame 
Recamier,  a  reference  furnished  her  by 
Berry. 

"Countenance  crime!"  cried  Ralbeck. 
"  Everybody  countenances  crime." 

Alberta  opened  her  eyes  a  shade  wider. 

"  Except  crimes  of  technique,"  Berry  mur- 


130          The  Third  Lamp 

mured  softly.     "  You  don't  countenance  a 
man  who  sings  off  the  key.    Curious !    I  do." 

"Art  has  laws,"  declared  Mrs.  Tillotson. 
"  Society  has  laws.  Crime  is  the  breach  of 
necessary  laws." 

"  Necessary,  Mrs.  Tillotson !  You  touch 
the  point."  Berry  stirred  himself.  "  But 
we  sing  in  tune  or  out  of  tune  by  nature; 
just  so  love  and  hate  by  nature.  Or  if  we 
learn  to  love,  or  to  sing  in  tune,  it  is  by 
example,  and  not  by  fear  or  compulsion, 
that  we  learn.  Most  crimes  are  crimes  of 
technique,  the  breach,  not  of  natural  laws, 
but  of  artificial  laws.  An  unnecessary  law 
is  an  initial  crime.  The  breach  of  it  is  a 
consequent  crime,  'Love  one  another'  is 
the  law  most  systematic,  beautiful,  inclu 
sive.  Really,  all  other  laws  than  that  are 
technical." 

"  G-gorry !  "  stammered  Ted  Secor.  "  Bu- 

but,  you  see,  Hicks " 

"Did  Hicks  love  Wood?"  said  Berry, 
and  fixed  on  Teddy  his  glassy-eyed  and  smil- 


The  Third  Lamp  131 

ing  stare.      "  He  was   wrong,    Hicks   was 
wrong." 

"  G-gorry,  no !  He  didn't  love  Wood !  " 
Ted  Secor  found  it  hard  work,  this  keep 
ing  one's  gaze  fixed  on  higher  things,  for  the 
stars  all  seemed  to  be  erratic  stars.  He  was 
not  clever  himself;  they  were  all  cleverer 
here  than  he.  He  wa^  nearly  as  idle  as 
Berry,  and  more  ignorant  than  Ralbeck, 
whose  knowledge  extra-musical  was  less  than 
moderate;  he  was  as  useless  as  possible;  his 
limbs  were  large  and  his  head  small;  Mrs. 
Tillotson  scared  him;  Alberta  ordered  and 
he  obeyed;  but  he  had  decided  instincts,  and 
he  knew  that  Berry  was  cleverer  than  Ral 
beck,  that  Mrs.  Tillotson  posed,  that  Alberta 
carried  himself  around  somehow  in  her 
diminutive  pocket,  and  finally,  that  his  own 
staying  powers  on  the  whole  were  rather 
good. 

The  trolley  car  clattered,  and  crashed  past 
outside,  and  stopped,  and  Alberta,  looking 
through  the  bow-window,  cried : 


132          The  Third  Lamp 

"  Camilla  Champney !  She's  coming 
in!" 

While  Mrs.  Tillotson  flushed  and  saw 
visions.  Camilla  was  not  frequent  and 
familiar  in  her  drawing-room.  She  had 
been  there  but  once  or  twice,  and  then 
nearly  a  year  before. 

When  Aidee  entered,  Ralbeck,  Mrs.  Til 
lotson,  and  Berry  were  arguing  eagerly  on 
the  subject  of  rituals,  Camilla's  thrilled  and 
thrilling  interest  seeming  to  act  like  a 
draught  on  excitable  coals.  Mrs.  Tillotson 
appealed  to  Aidee.  Berry  argued  the 
softening  effect  of  rituals;  they  tended  to 
substitute  non-combative  forces  and  habits, 
he  said,  in  the  place  of  combative  opinion; 
the  Catholics  were  wise  who  substituted 
ecclesiasticism  for  theology;  opinion  was 
quarrelsome;  hence  followed  anger  and 
hate;  a  ritual  represented  order,  therefore 
habit,  therefore  peace;  it  induced  these 
qualities  in  character;  he  thought  Mrs.  Til 
lotson  might  compose  a  ritual  for  the  As- 


The  Third  Lamp  133 

sembly.  Ralbeck  shouted  his  scorn.  Mrs. 
Tillotson  did  not  seem  pleased  with  Ralbeck 
for  his  scorn. 

Aidee  left  the  house  with  Ted,  Alberta, 
and  Camilla.  Presently  Ted  and  Alberta 
turned  north  toward  Herbert  Avenue  and 
the  region  of  large  houses  and  broad  lawns, 
and  Aidee  and  Camilla  walked  down  Frank 
lin  Street.  The  crowds  increased  as  they 
drew  nearer  the  business  section — late  after 
noon  crowds  hurrying  home. 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  say  what  I  have  to 
say,  Miss  Champney,"  he  said  stiffly,  some 
what  painfully. 

"  I  thought  you  could  say  anything. 
That's  your  gift." 

Camilla  was  radiant  for  a  moment. 

"  It  is  about  the  other  evening.  I  see  it 
differently.  I  see  that  Mr.  Hennion  was 
right/' 

"  Oh !  "  For  another  moment  she  was  dis 
dainful.  "  Women  don't  want  to  be  men's 
conventions." 


134          The  Third  Lamp 

"  Conventions !  Berry  would  say  that 
men  are  sermons  and  women  rituals." 

"  Mr.  Berry  wouldn't  have  said  that. 
He  couldn't ! "  She  was  radiant 
again. 

"  Don't  flatter  me  for  coining  epigrams. 
They're  the  small  change  of  Mrs.  Tillotson's 
drawing-room." 

"But  I  like  Alberta!" 

She  already  felt  the  something  discordant 
in  Aidee's  mood. 

The  increasing  crowds  broke  the  conver 
sation.  They  turned  to  the  left  through  the 
Court  House  Square,  and  passed  the  old  jail 
with  its  barred  windows  and  crumbling 
bricks.  Sparrows  fluttered  and  pecked  in 
the  wet  young  grass,  sometimes  lit  on  the  sill 
of  a  barred  window  and  looked  into  its  black 
secrecy. 

"  Please  don't  be  troubled  about  that,  Mr. 
Aidee,  because  it  doesn't  matter,  and  be 
sides — I  don't  know  how  to  ask  you — but 
there's  something  I  want  to  find  out.  I  don't 


The  Third  Lamp  135 

know  exactly  what  it  is.     It's  about  '  The 
Inner  Republic  ' !  " 

She  was  flushed,  hurried,  and  embarrassed 
now. 

"  I  thought  it  was  different — from  the 
other  books— that  is— I  thought  there  was 
something  in  it  besides  what  you  wanted  to 
prove." 

"  The  book  is  more  a  confession  than  an 
argument,  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Not  more,  but  besides." 

"  And  that  is  what  you  want  explained? 
You  are  perfectly  right.  A  man  ought  not 
to  spill  his  blood  into  a  book.  It  looks 
smeared.  Or  else  he  ought  to  add  explana 
tory  notes.  Oh,  yes!  the  book!  But  the 
notes  you  ask  for  are  extensive." 

Camilla  dropped  her  head,  and  they  walked 
on  silently. 

They  were  come  into  a  section  of  little 
wooden  shanties.  There  were  a  few  saloons 
with  gilded  signs,  some  grocery  stores  show 
ing  sodden  and  specked  vegetables,  and 


136          The  Third  Lamp 

empty  spaces  here  and  there,  cavernous, 
weed-grown,  and  unsightly  with  refuse. 
The  section  was  wedged  in  between  the 
Lower  Bank  Street  neighbourhood,  where 
the  well-to-do  in  Port  Argent  once  builded 
their  residences,  and  the  upper  part  of  the 
city,  whither  they  had  capriciously  migrated 
since.  The  two  noisy  thoroughfares  of 
Bank  Street  and  Maple  Street  came  together 
at  one  corner  of  it.  A  great  red-brick  ward 
schoolhouse  was  backed  against  an  empty 
space,  which  was  surrounded  with  a  rickety 
board  fence,  and  therein  a  few  unhealthy 
trees  were  putting  forth  pale  spring  leaves. 
The  still  greater  mass  of  a  steepleless  church 
thrust  out  its  apse  toward  the  same  empty 
space. 

Aidee  had  spoken  out  of  the  sick  bitterness 
which  he  had  already  noted  as  unreasonable. 
Miss  Champney,  he  thought,  was  only  rea 
sonable  in  asking  for  explanatory  notes. 

A  bluebird  on  one  of  the  feeble  and  stunted 
maples  by  the  schoolhouse  began  to  sing, 


The  Third  Lamp  137 

"  Lulu-lu,"  pleading,  liquid,  and  faint.  A 
flabby  woman  at  the  door  of  one  of  the 
shanties  bellowed  hoarse  threats  at  some 
quarrelling  children. 

Camilla  lifted  her  face.  Her  eyes  were 
wet,  and  her  mouth  trembling  at  the  rebuff. 

"  I  didn't  think  it  would  seem  that  way.  I 
thought  you  might  tell  me — because  you 
seemed  to  know,  to  understand  about  one's 
life — because  I  thought, — you  seemed  to 
know  so  well  what  I  only  guessed  at.  I  didn't 
mean  it  as  if  it  were  nothing  to  me.  I'm 
sorry." 

Aidee  stopped  short,  they  stood  in  si 
lence  for  some  time  by  the  old  fence  with  its 
lichened  boards  enclosing  the  meagre  maples 
and  the  grassless  space  within,  where  the 
bluebird's  young  spring  song  floated  above, 
"  Lulu-lu,"  tender  and  unfinished,  as  if  at 
that  point  the  sweetness  and  pain  of  its 
thought  could  only  be  hinted  at  by  the  little 
wistful  silence  to  follow.  Doubtless,  among 
the  maple  leaves,  too,  there  are  difficulties 


138  The  Third  Lamp 

of  expression,  imprisoned  meanings  that 
peer  out  of  dark  windows,  and  the  songsters 
are  afraid  of  singing  something  that  will 
not  be  answered  in  the  same  key.  They  sing 
a  few  notes  wistfully  and  listen.  They  flut 
ter  about  the  branches,  and  think  each  other's 
hesitations  bewildering.  It  happens  every 
spring  with  them,  when  the  maple  buds  un 
fold,  when  April  breaks  into  smiles  and  tears 
at  the  discovery  of  her  own  delicate  warmth, 
and  the  earth  feels  its  myriad  arteries  throb 
bing  faintly. 

Camilla  was  about  to  turn  to  go  on,  but 
he  stopped  her. 

"  I  won't  say  that  I  didn't  mean  that,"  he 
said.  "  I  did.  I'm  not  sorry.  Otherwise 
I  couldn't  have  understood  you." 

"  I  shall  make  a  circus  of  myself,"  he 
thought.  "  But  she'll  look  as  if  she  thought 
it  a  solemn  ceremony.  Women  can  do  that. 
They  don't  have  to  believe.  And  perhaps 
she  would  understand." 

"  Lulu-lu,"  sang  the  bluebird  plaintively, 


The  Third  Lamp  139 

seeming  to  say,  "  Don't  you  understand? 
This  is  what  I  mean." 

"  But  you  do  understand  now !  "  said  Ca 
milla. 

"  Yes.  I've  been  moody  to-day,  and  sick 
of  my  life  here.  It  was  the  Wood  murder. 
If  I  were  writing  another  book  now,  the 
smear  of  the  Wood  murder  would  be  on  it  at 
this  point.  It  would  compose  an  explanatory 
note.  You  asked  for  explanations  of  my 
book,  and  where  we  have  bled  we  are  sore. 
Well,  then,  I  had  a  younger  brother  once,  and 
we  loved  each  other  like  two  rank  young 
wolves,  and  hung  hard  together  by  our 
selves  some  twenty  years,  and  were  ragged 
together,  and  hungry  and  cold  sometimes. 
I  dragged  him  out  of  the  gutter  and  prison, 
he  wrecked  me  more  than  once.  Then  he 
left  me  and  sank  himself  somewhere.  I 
don't  know  if  he  is  dead  or  alive.  He  was  a 
thief  and  a  drunkard  off  and  on,  and  a  better 
man  than  I  in  several  ways,  and  more  of  a 
fanatic,  and  very  lovable.  It  tore  me  in  two. 


140  The  Third  Lamp 

I'd  give  ten  years  to  grip  his  hand  again. 
Is  that  curious?  I've  been  a  schoolmaster 
and  a  newspaper  editor,  day  laborer,  truck 
driver,  and  miner.  Now  I'm  the  exponent 
of  an  idea.  Sometimes  I've  worked  like  a 
dray  horse  all  day  and  studied  all  night. 
Sometimes  I've  been  happy.  Sometimes 
I've  had  an  extraordinary  desire  to  be  dead. 
Do  you  see  about  those  explanatory  notes? 
Do  you  think  they  would  help  you  any? 
The  reviews  say  my  book  is  morbid,  over- 
emotional.  Some  of  them  say  it's  hys 
teric." 

"  I  think  you're  a  wonderful  man."  She 
looked  up  with  glowing  and  frank  admira 
tion. 

The  bluebird  flitted  past  them  from  one 
scrubby  tree  to  another,  crying  softly.  The 
schoolhouse  stared  down  upon  them  blankly, 
with  its  thirty  unspeculative  back  windows. 
The  flabby  woman  sat  down  on  her  porch  and 
folded  her  fat  hands.  The  turbulent  chil 
dren  poked  in  the  refuse  heaps  and  grew  im- 


The  Third  Lamp  141 

perceptibly  dirtier.  A  factory  whistle  blew. 
A  nearby  street  grew  noisier  with  the  out 
pouring  of  workmen.  Aidee  leaned  against 
the  fence  and  looked  at  the  thirty  windows 
as  if  he  saw  speculation  in  them. 

"  Wonderful !  No !  But  you  are  wonder 
ful,  Miss  Champney.  Wherever  you  come 
you  bring  hope.  You  have  more  sympathies 
than  an  April  day.  You  are  the  genius  of 
the  spring.  The  bluebirds  are  singing  to 
you.  You  tempt  me  to  be  happy.  You  set 
me  to  poetising  against  the  back  windows 
of  a  schoolhouse  where  a  hundred  and 
fifty  innocents  are  bored  to  death  every 
day.  Tell  me  your  secret,  and  I'll  cure  the 
world.  It's  sick  of  an  old  disease.  Old! 
Some  say  eternal.  But  it  feels  pretty  well 
sometimes,  in  the  spring,  or  because  women 
are  good  and  beautiful,  and  tell  us  that  it  is 
impossible  not  to  hope.  They  seem  to  tell 
us  to  dream  on,  till  we've  outdreamed  the 
wrong  and  so  found  the  right.  Wonderful  ? 
You  are  wonderful.  The  hope  of  the  world 


142  The  Third  Lamp 

looks  out  of  your  eyes.  I  owe  you  a  debt. 
I  owe  it  to  tell  you  whatever  you  want  to 
know.  I'm  as  flattered  and  foolish  as  you 
like." 

Camilla  laughed  happily. 

"  Then  I  shall  have  to  ask  questions.  For 
instance,  I  want  to  know  what  you  think 
about  the  man  who  shot  Mr.  Wood." 

He  glowered  a  little. 

"  Could  I  say  without  seeing  him  ?  But 
you  mean  about  what  he  did.  I  think  a 
man's  life  belongs  to  him  and  shouldn't  be 
stolen.  I  don't  like  thievery  of  any  kind. 
I've  been  trying  to  show  people  that  men  like 
Wood  were  disguised  thieves,  more  or  less 
disguised  from  themselves.  I  suppose  Hicks 
is  no  less  a  murderer  because  the  thing  ap 
peared  to  him  in  the  disguise  of  a  cause.  I 
don't  know.  They  call  him  so.  Murder  is 
illegal  killing.  They'll  probably  put  him  to 
death,  and  that  will  be  legal  killing.  They'll 
think  their  motive  is  good.  The  motives  of 
the  two  killings  are  not  so  different.  Hicks 


The  Third  Lamp  143 

thought  his  motive  was  good.  I  think  no 
man  has  a  right  to  kill  another,  legally  or  ille 
gally.  I  don't  care  for  the  laws.  I'd  as  lief 
break  them  as  not.  They  are  codified  habits, 
some  of  them  bad  habits.  Half  the  laws  are 
crimes  against  better  laws.  You  can  break 
all  the  Ten  Commandments  with  perfect  le 
gality.  The  laws  allow  you  to  kill  and  steal 
under  prescribed  conditions.  Wood  stole, 
and  Hicks  killed,  and  most  men  lie,  though 
only  now  and  then  illegally.  It's  all 
villainous  casuistry.  Taking  life  that  doesn't 
belong  to  you  is  worse  than  taking  money 
that  doesn't  belong  to  you,  because  it's  the 
breach  of  a  better  ownership.  But  Hicks' 
motive  seems  better  than  Wood's.  How  can 
one  measure  the  length  and  breadth  of  sin? 
Wood  seemed  to  me  more  of  a  thief  than 
most  who  are  in  jail,  because  I  felt  clearer 
as  to  the  rights  of  public  property  than 
as  to  the  rights  of  private  property.  But  I 
found  him  a  very  human  man.  Hicks  is 
probably  no  less  so.  Wood  was  a  likeable 


144         The  Third  Lamp 

man  too.  There  is  no  criminal  class,  no  cor 
rupt  politician  class.  There  are  no  classes  of 
any  kind.  I  mean  to  say  the  classification 
hinders  more  truth  than  it  helps.  Do  you 
understand  me?  I'm  not  a  systematic 
thinker.  Shall  I  confess,  Miss  Champney? 
One  talks  confidently  about  right  and  wrong 
in  public.  In  secret  he  confesses  that  he 
never  saw  them  apart.  I  confess  it  to  you, 
that  I  don't  know  how  they  would  look 
apart." 

Camilla  felt  thrilled.  It  was  the  word 
"  secret,"  perhaps,  or,  "  confession."  Or 
more  with  the  sense  of  being  present  at  the 
performance  of  a  mystery,  when  a  great 
man,  as  she  thought  him — a  man  new,  at 
least,  and  original — conceived,  created, 
shaped  his  thoughts  before  her,  and  held 
them  out  for  her  to  see.  The  great  men  of 
history,  the  statesmen,  poets,  reformers, 
were  vivid  to  her,  to  be  read  and  to  be  read 
about.  Some  of  them  her  father  had 
known.  They  were  the  subjects  of  long 


The  Third  Lamp  145 

morning  talks  in  the  tall-windowed  library. 
She  had  a  halo  ready  for  any  deserving 
head.  She  had  a  halo  fitted  on  Alcott 
Aidee's,  and  he  was  conversationally  doffing 
it,  a  celestial  performance  that  set  her  cheeks 
to  flying  signals  of  excitement. 

Aidee  was  basking  in  a  vague  sense  of 
pleasantness,  his  sick  moodiness  soothed 
away.  What  did  it  matter  if  one  had  work 
to  do?  How  noble  and  lovely  and  sweet 
was  Camilla  Champney ! 

"  The  man  who  first  invented  women/'  he 
went  on  more  slowly,  "  must  have  been  a 
lyric  poet." 

He  caught  sight  of  the  huge  woman  on  the 
porch  of  the  shanty,  who  now  rose  and 
bobbed  to  him  vigorously.  Aidee  returned 
the  salute.  Camilla  choked  a  laugh,  and 
Aidee  grinned  in  sympathy,  and  all  seemed 
well,  with  a  bluebird,  the  moist  April 
weather,  and  the  cheerful  noise  of  the  sur 
rounding  streets,  and  the  coming  on  of  sun 
set.  They  turned  and  walked  up  the  slight 


146  The  Third  Lamp 

hill,  past  the  big  steepleless  church,  to  Maple 
Street. 

"  No,  she's  not  lyric,"  he  said.  "  She's 
epic.  Her  name  is  Mrs.  Finney.  I've  forgot 
ten  how  I  happen  to  know.  Oh,  yes!  She 
and  her  husband  fight,  but  she  always 
thrashes  him." 

"How  dreadful!" 

"  Is  it  ?  But  it's  good  for  him  to  know 
where  he  stands  in  the  scheme  of  things.  His 
hopefulness  is  wonderful,  and  then  the 
knowledge  that  she  can  do  it  is  part  of  her 
contentment.  Do  you  suppose  we  could  get 
Tom  Berry  to  admit  that  a  combativeness 
which  had  a  regular  recurrence  and  a  fore 
gone  conclusion,  like  the  Finneys',  might 
come  to  have  the  qualities  and  benefits  of  a 
ritual  ?  It  would  be  a  nice  question  for  Mrs. 
Tillotson's  drawing-room." 

"  He  talks  as  he  writes !  "  thought  Ca 
milla,  marvelling,  too  interested  in  marvel 
ling  to  question  if  the  man  could  be  analysed, 
and  some  things  found  not  altogether 


The  Third  Lamp  147 

shipful — egotisms,  perhaps  inconsistencies, 
weaknesses,  and  tyrannies.  Capable  of 
earnestness  he  was, surely  beyond  most  men; 
capable  of  sarcasm  and  laughter.  Camilla 
was  occupied  in  getting  the  spirit  of  the  grey 
volume  properly  incarnated  in  the  man  walk 
ing  beside  her,  a  slender  man,  tirelessly  ener 
getic,  whose  black,  restless  eyes  glanced  un 
der  bony  brows  so  intently  at  whatever  for 
the  moment  met  them,  whose  talk  was  so 
brilliant  and  electric.  This  brother  whom 
he  was  describing  so  frankly  seemed  to  have 
behaved  more  than  doubtfully.  But  Alcott's 
frank  description  of  his  brother  and  his 
close  love  of  him  both  were  so  clear,  and 
his  frankness  and  his  love  each  seemed 
to  Camilla  the  more  beautiful  for  the 
other. 

The  Arcadian  age  is  not  only  an  age  of 
surprises.  It  is  above  all  an  age  of  images. 
All  ideas  then  make  haste  to  shape  them 
selves  into  persons,  into  living  objects,  how 
ever  vast  and  vague.  In  the  farthest  inland 


148  The  Third  Lamp 

Arcadia,  hard  by  the  sources  and  fountain 
heads  of  streams,  where  everyone  has  once 
lived,  what  unhesitating  outstretchings  there 
were,  what  innocent  anthropomorphisms ! 
In  our  dreams  God  came  into  the  window 
and  kissed  us  at  night  with  sweet,  fiery  lips, 
as  realistic  a  visitation  as  ever  came  to 
Psyche  or  Endymion,  and  the  soul  swelled 
up  like  a  balloon,  and  was  iridescent  as  a 
soap  bubble.  Everything  was  a  person 
then. 

Camilla  had  still  the  habit.  A  face  and  a 
voice  came  to  her  out  of  every  book.  She 
had  already  a  close  acquaintance  with  a  sur 
prising  person  in  the  grey  volume,  one  who 
had  varying  tones  and  features,  who  seemed 
to  reason  so  closely,  so  trenchantly,  and 
again  to  be  but  a  lost  and  longing  petitioner ; 
one  who  sometimes  bitterly  denounced,  but 
sometimes  spoke  humorously  and  pleasantly 
enough.  A  feverish  spirit,  yet  as  it  seemed 
to  her,  beautiful,  earnest,  daring,  search 
ing,  and  like  a  ship  carrying  a  mysterious 


The  Third  Lamp  149 

force  and  fearless  prow.  She  had  but 
pictures  and  impressions  of  these  things. 
She  was  slowly  identifying  them  now  with 
the  restless-eyed  Aidee,  and  felt  peculiarly 
happy.  How  beautiful  it  seemed  that 
spring  had  come,  and  the  first  bluebird  was 
singing!  The  impish  children  on  the  ref 
use  heaps  shouted  gleefully.  A  silky 
spring  haze  was  in  the  air,  as  if  risen  out  of 
the  valleys  of  Arcadia. 

Maple  Street  was  thronged,  and  mainly 
with  foreign-looking  faces,  German  and 
Italian,  some  Jewish,  a  few  Chinese  and 
Negro.  Lower  Bank  Street  seemed  com 
paratively  quiet  and  deserted.  Black-hulled 
freight  boats,  cumbersome  monsters,  slept  at 
their  docks.  The  glimmer  of  the  white  sail 
of  a  yacht  could  be  seen  far  down  the  river 
beyond  the  bridges. 

"  Cheerful  old  river !  "  Aidee  remarked. 

"  I  love  it." 

"  Reason  enough  for  its  cheerfulness." 

"  I've  loved  it  for  ages." 


150  The  Third  Lamp 

"  But  you  needn't  dodge  a  tribute,"  said 
Aidee. 

"  You  needn't  insist  on  it." 

"  Not  if  I  think  it  important?  " 

"  Oh,  never  at  all ! " 

"  But  a  tribute !  You  might  take  what 
belongs  to  you.  I  owe  you  a  debt." 

"  Better  owe  it  than  pay  it  in  small  coin." 

"  Then  I  offer  a  promissory  note." 

"  You  mean — you  will  tell  me  more 

about "  Camilla  paused  and  dropped  her 

voice. 

"  Whatever  you  may  ask.  It's  the  kind 
called  payable  on  demand." 

It  has  ever  been  noticed,  at  some  point, 
sooner  or  later,  probably  in  the  springtime, 
the  conversations  in  Arcadia  become  sin 
gularly  light,  and  small  tinklings  of  wit  are 
thought  poetical. 

Opposite  the  P.  and  N.  station  were  the 
gangs  of  Hennion's  workmen.  The  paving 
job  was  nearly  finished.  But  something 
was  wrong.  The  men  stood  idle.  Hennion 


The  Third  Lamp  1 5 1 

had  his  back  against  a  telegraph  pole,  and 
talked  to  Kennedy,  as  Aidee  and  Camilla 
came  up  behind  him. 

"  Rip  it  out  again,  Kennedy,"  he  said. 
"  Can't  help  it." 

"  Twill  cost  the  best  part  of  a  day,"  said 
the  big  foreman  ruefully. 

"  Can't  help  it." 

Kennedy  swore  stealthily  but  solidly,  and 
Hennion  laughed. 

"  I'll  pay  the  damages  if  you'll  do  the 
growling.  That's  all  right." 

He  turned  and  met  Camilla  and  Aidee, 
and  the  three  walked  toward  the  Champney 
house.  Camilla  asked  imperative  questions. 

"What  is  it,  Dick?  What  have  you 
done?" 

Hennion  glanced  at  Aidee  and  thought  of 
their  late  stormy  tilting. 

"  Oh,  I  was  away  to-day,  and  Kennedy 
saw  the  chance  to  make  a  blunder  with  his 
sand  layer.  He  thinks  it  won't  make  much 
difference,  if  we  forget  about  it.  He's  an 


152  The  Third  Lamp 

ingenious    arguer.        But    I    hate    sloppy 
work." 

Aidee  said  nothing.  The  two  men  stopped 
at  the  Champney  gate.  Camilla  went  up  the 
path  with  her  swift,  springy  step.  They 
turned  back  to  the  gangs  of  workmen. 

"  You  were  right  about  that,  the  other 
night,"  said  Aidee  abruptly.  "  I'm  not 
quite  clear  how  you  were  right,  but  you 
were." 

"  Right  about  the  whole  business  ?  " 

"  No,  only  about  my  method.  I'm  still 
urging  you  to  go  in,  but  I'm  adopting  your 
scruples." 

Hennion  shook  his  head  thoughtfully. 
Aidee  went  on. 

"  Political  power  is  safest  in  the  hands  of 
those  who  have  to  make  a  sacrifice  in  order 
to  accept  it."  Then  he  stopped  with  a  short 
laugh.  "  I'm  a  coiner  of  phrases.  It's 
inveterate.  Maxims  don't  interest  you. 
Would  it  be  any  argument  for  your  going  in 
if  I  engaged  to  stay  out?  " 


The  Third  Lamp  153 

"Why,  hardly.  I  don't  know.  I  don't 
make  you  out." 

"  Carroll's  going  to  explain  me  in  six 
paragraphs  to-morrow." 

"  Carroll  doesn't  amount  to  anything. 
Did  you  know  Hicks  at  all  ?  "  implying  that 
he  knew  what  the  paragraphs  would  be. 

"  Never  saw  him  that  I  know  of." 

«  Well — I  don't  see  where  you're  con 
cerned." 

Hennion  went  out  into  the  street  among 
his  workmen.  He  wondered  what  Aidee 
meant  by  "  adopting  your  scruples."  Prob 
ably  Aidee  saw  the  enormity  of  dragging  in 
Camilla.  It  was  time  he  did.  Hennion  did 
not  find  himself  liking  Aidee  any  better  for 
his  candour,  or  advice,  or  conscientious 
scruples,  if  he  had  them.  He  thought  his 
own  scruples  about  Camilla  were  not  things 
to  be  copied  or  "  adopted  "  precisely  by  any 
one  else. 

Aidee  went  back  by  the  schoolhouse.  He 
thought  he  would  like  to  hear  the  bluebird 


154  The  Third  Lamp 

again,  on  the  spot  where  his  bitterness  and 
the  wound  within  him  had  been  suddenly 
healed  by  some  medicine  as  irrational  as  the 
disease,  but  the  twilight  had  fallen  now,  and 
there  was  no  song  about  the  place.  Mrs. 
Finney  and  her  "  man "  were  quarrelling 
noisily  at  their  open  window. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
dfcecbanlcs 

HENNION  came  back  from  seeing 
Wood  laid  away  (where  other  men 
were  lying,  who  had  been  spoken  of  in 
their  day,  whom  Port  Argent  had  forgotten 
or  was  in  process  of  forgetting)  and  saw  the 
last  bricks  laid  and  rammed  on  Lower  Bank 
Street.  There  was  satisfaction  in  the  pave 
ment  of  Lower  Bank  Street,  in  knowing 
what  was  in  it  and  why.  The  qualities  of 
sand,  crushed  stone,  and  paving  brick  were 
the  same  yesterday  and  to-day.  Each  brick 
was  three  inches  and  three-eighths  thick,  and 
not  one  would  be  ambitious  of  four  inches 
to-morrow.  If  it  were  broken,  and  thrown 
away,  there  would  be  no  altruistic  compunc 
tions.  One  built  effectively  with  such 

things. 

155 


156  Mechanics 


Charlie  Carroll  whispered  to  Hennion  as 
they  came  out  of  the  cemetery : 

"  It's  all  right.     The  boys  are  satisfied." 

"Why  are  they?" 

"  They'd  be  scared  not  to  do  what  Wood 
said  now.  It  wouldn't  go  down." 

"  Go  down  where  ?  " 

"  Well,  they  seem  to  like  the  idea  too. 
They  will  have  it." 

But  why  should  he  be  congratulated  over 
a  prospective  invitation  from  "  the  boys  "  to 
labour  in  their  interests?  He  was  not  sure 
why  he  had  not  already  refused,  by  what 
subconscious  motive  or  scruple.  Properly 
there  should  be  scruples  about  accepting. 
The  leadership  of  the  organisation  was  an 
unsalaried  position,  with  vague  perquisites. 
Wood  had  taken  honorariums  and  contribu 
tions,  spent  what  he  chose  on  the  organisa 
tion,  and  kept  what  he  chose.  Apparently 
he  had  not  kept  much,  if  any.  He  had 
seemed  to  care  only  for  influence.  He  had 
liked  the  game.  He  had  left  only  a  small 


Mechanics  157 


estate.     But  whether  he  had  kept  or  passed 
it  on,  the  money  was  called  unclean. 

If  one  went  into  politics  to  effect  some 
thing — and  Hennion  could  not  imagine  why 
one  went  into  anything  otherwise — the 
leadership  of  the  organisation  seemed  to  be 
the  effective  point.  The  city  had  a  set  of 
chartered  machinery,  ineffectually  chartered 
to  run  itself;  also  certain  subsets  of  un- 
chartered  machinery.  It  voted  now  and 
then  which  of  the  subsets  should  be  allowed 
to  slip  on  its  belt.  The  manner  in  which  the 
chartered  machinery  was  run  depended 
somewhat  on  the  expedients  that  were 
needed  to  keep  the  unchartered  machinery 
going.  There  must  be  dynamics  and  me 
chanics  in  all  that  machinery.  To  an 
engineer's  criticism  it  seemed  oddly  compli 
cated.  There  must  be  a  big  waste.  But 
almost  any  machine,  turning  heat  force  into 
motion,  wasted  sixty  per  cent.  Still  these 
sets  and  subsets  seemed  loosely  geared.  It 
looked  like  an  interesting  problem  in  en- 


158  Mechanics 


gineering,  that  had  been  met  rather  experi 
mentally.  As  mechanics,  it  seemed  to  be 
all  in  an  experimental  stage.  Hennion  won 
dered  if  there  were  any  text-books  on  the 
subject,  and  then  pulled  himself  up  with  a 
protest. 

What  did  politics  want  of  an  engineer  and 
a  business  man  ?  As  an  engineer  and  a  busi 
ness  man,  he  had  been  asking  something  of 
politics,  to  be  sure,  but  he  had  only  asked  it 
in  the  way  of  business.  In  his  father's  time 
politics  had  called  for  lawyers.  Nowadays 
lawyers  too  were  mainly  a  class  of  business 
men.  If  political  machinery  had  any 
dynamic  and  mechanic  laws,  they  must  be 
original.  Those  who  succeeded  in  running 
it  seemed  to  succeed  by  a  kind  of  amateur, 
hand-to-mouth  common  sense. 

Wood  had  been  an  interesting  man. 
After  all,  he  might  have  been  as  important 
in  his  way  as  Henry  Champney  had  been. 
If  you  were  talking  of  the  dynamics  of 
politics,  you  were  estimating  men  as  forces. 


Mechanics  159 


The  amount  and  direction  were  a  good  deal 
matters  of  guess.  Wood  had  thought  Hen- 
nion's  father  a  better  man  for  results  than 
Champney. 

Wood  himself  had  been  a  man  for  results, 
with  some  impersonal  ambitions  for  Port 
Argent.  He  had  known  it  better  than 
almost  anyone  else,  more  of  its  details  and 
different  aspects,  from  the  wharves  to  Seton 
Avenue.  Those  who  criticised  him  generally 
had  seemed  hampered  by  knowing  less  about 
the  matter  than  he  did.  They  fell  back  on 
principles,  and  called  him  corrupt,  which 
meant  that,  if  the  unchartered  machinery 
needed  fuel,  the  chartered  machinery  was  set 
to  turning  out  some  bit  of  legislation  to 
suit  those  who  furnished  the  fuel.  Hennion 
thought  the  prosperity  of  Port  Argent  had 
always  been  a  motive  with  Wood.  Only  it 
was  a  complicated  motive,  half  private, 
hardly  confessed. 

Hennion  entered  another  protest  against 
the  direction  of  his  thoughts,  and  noticed 


160  Mechanics 


the  big  foreman,  Kennedy,  close  beside 
him.  The  workmen  were  gathering  their 
tools. 

"  All  right,  Kennedy.  Come  around  to 
morrow.  We'll  begin  that  grading  on  the 
east  side  next." 

Kennedy  looked  after  him  wistfully,  and 
the  workmen  stood  still,  holding  their  tools 
and  looking  after  him.  He  noticed  it  as  he 
turned  away,  and  it  occurred  to  him  to  won 
der  how  it  happened  that  he  knew  so  many 
men  like  Kennedy,  who  seemed  to  have  a 
sort  of  feudal  attachment  for  him. 

He  passed  through  Tecumseh  Street  on 
his  way  home,  and  noticed  where  the  police 
man  had  ripped  off  the  advertising  boards. 
Hicks  must  be  a  queer  specimen,  he  thought. 
But  relatively  to  mechanics,  every  man  was 
an  eccentric. 

Tecumseh  Street  was  absorbed  in  its  daily 
business.  It  seemed  to  have  no  conscience- 
smitten,  excited  memories.  A  mob  and  a 
flash  of  gunpowder,  a  runaway  horse,  the 


Mechanics  1 6 1 


breaking  down  of  a  truck,  everything  went 
the  way  of  incident.  "  Everything  goes," 
was  the  phrase  there,  meaning  it  is  accepted 
and  goes  away,  for  the  street  has  not  time 
to  remember  it. 

Hennion  glanced  up  at  the  window  of  the 
little  room  in  The  Press  building.  Why 
had  Wood  chosen  an  engineer  and  con 
tractor  to  make  of  him  a  machine  politician? 
Machinery  made  of  men,  with  the  notions  of 
men  to  drive  it — what  kind  of  machinery 
was  that  to  work  with!  Aidee,  the  en 
thusiast,  was  a  man!  Hicks,  the  mad,  was 
another;  Freiburger,  the  mollusk,  another. 
Wood,  with  his  complicated  sympathies  and 
tolerances  and  hand-to-mouth  flexible  com 
mon  sense,  was  a  specially  developed  type 
to  run  that  kind  of  machinery.  Wood  was 
dead,  and  as  for  his  "  job/'  and  what  "  the 
boys "  wanted,  why,  they  wanted  their 
"  jobs,"  like  everybody  else.  Hennicn 
wanted  his  own. 

Carroll  came  flitting  around  the  corner 


1 62  Mechanics 


of  Hancock  Street  at  that  moment,  and 
nearly  ran  into  him. 

"  Oh !  Committee  meets  to-morrow 
night." 

"  I  don't  want  it." 

"  Come  off !     You  can't  help  it." 

Carroll  flitted  away  in  the  direction  of 
The  Press  building. 

Before  seven  o'clock  the  sparrows  in  the 
dark  maples  were  forgetting  in  sleep  all  the 
great  issues  of  their  day. 

Hennion  left  his  rooms,  in  the  apartment 
building  that  was  splendidly  called  "  The 
Versailles,"  and  came  out  in  the  street.  It 
was  too  early  to  see  Camilla.  He  walked 
a  few  blocks  north,  and  turned  down  Maple 
Street  presently,  past  St.  Catherine's 
Church,  and  Freiburger's  saloon  across  the 
street  from  the  church.  They  were  the 
seats  of  the  two  rulers  of  the  Fourth  Ward, 
church  and  state — Father  Harra  and  Frei- 
burger. 


Mechanics  163 


Maple  Street  instead  of  tumbling  down 
the  bluff  like  other  streets,  to  be  chopped  or! 
short  at  the  wharves,  seems  to  lift  itself 
there  with  a  sense  of  power  beneath,  becomes 
a  victory  and  a  spirit,  and  so  floats  out 
over  the  brown  Muscadine.  The  bridge 
was  always  to  Hennion  more  like  his  father 
than  the  canal  or  the  C.  V.  Railroad.  The 
railroad  was  a  financial  cripple  now,  ab 
sorbed  in  a  system.  The  great  day  of  the 
canal  was  long  past.  The  elder  Hennion 
had  seemed  a  soul  for  daring  and  success, 
and  that  was  the  bridge.  It  stood  to 
Hennion  for  a  memorial,  and  for  the  symbol 
of  his  father's  life  and  his  own  hope  in  the 
working  world.  He  liked  to  stand  on  it, 
to  feel  it  beneath  and  around  him,  knowing 
what  each  steel  girder  meant,  and  what  in 
figures  was  the  strength  of  its  grip  and  pull. 
There  was  no  emotional  human  nature  in 
it,  no  need  of  compromise.  Steel  was  steel, 
and  stone  stone,  and  not  a  bolt  or  strand  of 
wire  had  any  prejudice  or  private  folly.  In 


164  Mechanics 


a  certain  way  he  seemed  to  find  his  father 
there,  and  to  be  able  to  go  over  with  him 
their  old  vivid  talks. 

The  Muscadine  reflected  up  at  him,  out 
of  its  brown  turbulence,  shattered  fragments 
of  the  moon  and  stars.  A  quavering  voice 
spoke  in  his  ear :  "  Got  a  light?  " 

Besides  himself  and  the  inebriate,  who 
held  up  by  the  nearest  girder,  there  was  only 
one  other  person  on  the  bridge,  a  small,  thin 
figure,  creeping  from  the  distance  toward 
them  in  the  moonlight,  a  half -grown  child, 
who  leaned  her  shoulders  to  one  side  to 
balance  a  basket  on  the  other. 

"Pretty  full,  Jimmy  Shays,"  Hennion 
said,  giving  him  a  match.  "  You'd  float  all 
right  if  you  fell  into  the  river." 

"  Tha'sh  right,  tha'sh  right !  I  drinks  to 
pervent  accerdents,  myself." 

He  lit  the  match,  seemed  to  gather  the 
idea  that  he  had  succeeded  with  the  pipe, 
and  sucked  at  it  imaginatively;  then  started 
suddenly  for  the  basket  girl.  "  Hi !  " 


Mechanics  165 


The  child  stopped  and  looked  at  him. 

"  I  gets  one  end.     Tha'sh  right." 

She  accepted  the  offer  with  matter-of-fact 
gravity,  and  they  moved  away  over  the 
bridge  unsteadily.  The  glamour  of  the  moon 
was  around  them.  Hennion  heard  Shays 
lift  his  voice  into  husky  resemblance  of  a 
song. 

A  queer  world,  with  its  futilities  like 
Shays,  its  sad  little  creeping  creatures  like 
the  basket  girl ! 

Down  the  river  some  distance  was  the  P. 
and  N.  Railroad  bridge.  The  west-bound 
train  shot  out  upon  it,  a  sudden  yell,  a  pursu 
ing  rumble,  a  moving  line  of  lit  windows. 

Whatever  one  did,  taking  pride  in  it 
purely  as  a  work,  as  victory  and  solution,  it 
was  always  done  at  last  for  the  sake  of  men 
and  women.  The  west-bound  passenger 
train  was  the  foremost  of  effectual  things. 
It  ran  as  accurately  to  its  aims  in  the  dark 
as  in  the  light,  with  a  rhythm  of  smooth 
machinery,  over  spider-web  bridges.  Com- 


1 66  Mechanics 


pared  with  the  train,  the  people  aboard  it 
were  ineffectual.  Most  of  them  had — but 
mixed  ideas  of  their  purposes  there.  But 
if  no  passengers  had  been  aboard,  the  west 
bound  train  would  have  been  a  silly  affair. 

Hennion  came  from  the  bridge  and  down 
Bank  Street,  which  was  brilliant  with  lights. 
He  turned  up  an  outrunning  street  and  came 
out  on  the  square,  where  stood  Port  Argent's 
city  hall  and  court  house  and  jail,  where 
there  was  a  fountain  that  sometimes  ran, 
and  beds  of  trimmed  foliage  plants  arranged 
in  misguided  colour-designs. 

Several  lights  were  burning  in  the  barred 
windows  of  the  old  jail.  He  stopped  and 
looked  at  the  lights,  and  wondered  what 
varieties  of  human  beings  were  there.  The 
jail  was  another  structure  which  would  have 
been  futile  without  people  to  go  in,  at  least 
to  dislike  going  in.  The  man  who  shot 
Wood  was  there.  Why  did  he  shoot 
Wood  ?  What  was  his  futile  idea  in  that  ? 

The  jail  was  old  and  dilapidated.     Some 


Mechanics  167 


of  the  bricks  had  crumbled  under  the  barred 
windows. 

Hennion  walked  into  the  entrance,   and 

rang  the  bell. 

The  jailor  was  middle-aged,  bearded,  and 
smoking  a  short  pipe. 

"  Can  I  see  Hicks,  Sweeney?  " 

"Got  a  permit?  Oh!  Mr.  Hennion! 
Well,  it  ain't  regular,  you  know." 

"  You  can  stay  by." 

"Well,  all  right.  No,  but  I'll  have  to 
lock  you  in.  It's  the  rules." 

They  went  up  a  flight  of  dark  stairs, 
through  a  corridor,  where  a  watchman 
passed  them.  They  stopped  at  a  door,  and 
the  jailor  turned  the  key. 

"  Hicks,  gentleman  to  see  you." 


CHAPTER  IX 
Ibfcfcs 

HICKS  was  sitting  within  by  a  plain 
board  table,  reading.    It  was  a  white 
washed    room    and    had    a    window    with 
rusted  bars.     The  door  banged,  and  the  key 
.  again    creaked    in    the    lock.     The    jailor 
walked  to  and  fro  in  the  corridor. 

Hicks  looked  up  from  his  reading,  and 
stared  in  a  half-comprehending  way. 

"  I  have  a  selfish  thirst  for  knowledge, 
Mr.  Hicks/'  said  Hennion. 

He  took  the  chair  on  the  opposite  side, 
and  looked  at  the  book  on  the  table.  The 
feeble  gas  jet  stood  some  six  inches  out  from 
the  wall,  directly  over  the  table. 

"It's  the  Bible,"  said  the  other.  "It 
needs  to  be  made  modern,  but  there's  knowl 
edge  in  it." 

"  I  didn't  mean  that." 

"  Lazarus   and   Dives.      That's    fanciful 

168 


Hicks  169 

justice.  A  trick  to  pacify  Lazarus.  But 
there's  knowledge.  Notice  what  the  dogs 
did.  That's  satire." 

It  seemed  a  trifle  uncanny,  the  place,  the 
little  man  with  the  absorbed  manner,  metal 
lic  voice  and  strange  language,  black  hair 
and  beard,  intent  black  eyes.  Hennion  had 
never  interviewed  a  criminal  before. 

"  I'm  not  a  reporter,  Mr.  Hicks,  nor  a 
lawyer." 

Hicks  marked  his  place  and  closed  the 
book. 

"  I  know  who  you  are." 

"  I  was  a  friend  of  Wood's,  in  a  way,  but 
I'm  not  here  in  malice.  I  gathered  you 
hadn't  anything  personal  against  him.  It 
seemed  to  follow  you  had  some  sort  of  a 
long-range  motive  in  it.  I  wanted  to  ask 
you  why  you  shot  Wood." 

Hicks'  gaze  grew  slowly  in  intentness  as 
if  his  mind  were  gathering  behind  it,  con 
centrating  its  power  on  one  point.  The 
point  seemed  to  be  midway  between  and 


1 70  Hicks 

above  Hennion's  eyes.  Hennion  had  an  im 
pulse  to  put  his  hand  to  the  spot,  as  if  it 
were  burnt,  but  his  habit  of  impassiveness 
prevented.  He  thought  the  gaze  might 
represent  the  way  in  which  Hicks'  mind 
worked.  A  focussing  mind  was  a  good 
thing  for  anyone  who  worked  with  his 
brains,  but  it  might  have  extravagances. 
An  analysis  concentrated  and  confined  to  an 
infinitely  small  point  in  the  centre  of  the 
forehead  might  make  an  infinitely  small  hole 
to  the  back  of  the  head,  but  it  would  not 
comprehend  a  whole  character.  A  man's 
character  ran  to  the  ends  of  his  hands  and 
feet. 

"  I'm  an  engineer,"  Hennion  went  on, 
"  and  in  that  way  I  have  to  know  the  effec 
tiveness  of  things  I  handle  and  apply.  And 
in  that  way  men  too  are  to  me  so  much 
effectiveness," 

"  I  know  about  you,"  said  Hicks  sharply. 
"  Your  men  like  you.  You've  never  had  a 
strike." 


Hicks  171 

"  Why— no." 

Hicks'  manner  had  changed.  It  was 
quick,  excited,  and  angular. 

'  You're  wrong.  They're  something 
more  to  you,  that  you  didn't  count  in.  Why 
do  they  like  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Exactly.  But  it's  something  effective, 
ain't  it?" 

Hennion  paused  and  felt  confused.  A 
man  of  such  sharp  analysis  and  warped  per 
formance  as  this,  how  was  one  to  get  to 
understand  him?  He  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  and  crossed  his  knees.  The  sharp 
analysis  might  be  a  trick  Hicks  had  caught 
from  listening  to  Aidee's  speeches.  It 
sounded  like  Aidee. 

"Well,  anyhow,  Mr.  Hicks,  in  the  way 
of  effectiveness,  why  did  you  shoot  Wood?  " 

Hicks'  eyes  were  little  pin-points  of  con 
centration. 

"  He  sold  the  people  to  the  corporations." 

"Well.     But  suppose  he  did.     Will  the 


172  Hicks 

next  man  do  any  better?  If  not,  where's 
the  effectiveness  ?  " 

"  He  won't  be  so  sharp." 

"  You  thought  Wood  was  too  sharp  to  be 
downed  Aidee's  way?  " 

"He  was  the  devil's  latest  scheme.  I 
sent  him  to  the  devil." 

"  And  shoulder  the  consequences.  I  like 
that.  But  the  next  man.  Suppose  I  were 
the  next  man." 

Hicks'  teeth  clicked  together.  His  hands 
moved  across  the  table.  They  were  thin 
and  claw-like,  and  the  nails  scratched  the 
boards.  He  said  softly: 

"  Look  out  what  you  do." 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  I'm  looking  around 
for  advice.  Does  it  seem  queer  if  I  ask 
some  of  you  ?  " 

Hennion  felt  brutally  master  of  the  situa 
tion.  There  seemed  something  unfair  in  his 
greater  size,  his  colder  nerves  and  more  un 
troubled  brain,  unfair  to  the  little  man 
opposite,  with  his  hot  impulses,  his  sad  and 


Hicks  173 

sordid  tragedy.  Hennion  felt  so  much  at 
ease  as  to  wonder  why  he  did  not  feel  more 
repulsion  for  Wood's  murderer,  and  con 
soled  himself  by  thinking  Wood  himself 
had  been  tolerant  of  hostilities  and  extrem 
ities,  and  would  probably  feel  no  repulsion 
for  Hicks.  Perhaps  the  key  to  Hicks  was 
that  he  was  created  without  tolerance.  He 
was  made  up  of  intense  convictions  and 
repulsions  and  inflamed  nerves.  Whatever 
goal  his  purpose  fixed  on  would  become  a 
white-hot  point,  blinding  him  to  circum 
stances.  And  this  focussing  nature,  which 
acted  like  a  lens  to  contract  general  heat  into 
a  point  of  fire,  was  a  natural  phenomenon  in 
dynamics.  It  seemed  a  characteristic  of 
better  service  for  starting  a  fire,  and  furnish 
ing  the  first  impulse  of  a  social  movement, 
than  for  running  steady  machinery.  Some 
people  claimed  that  society  was  running 
down  and  needed  a  new  impulse.  If  so,  it 
needed  the  Hicks  type.  If  not,  the  trouble 
with  Hicks  might  be  that  he  was  a  phenom- 


174  Hicks 

enon  occurring  at  the  wrong  time,  a  fire  that 
had  to  be  put  out. 

"You  ask  me!" 

"  Then  it  does  seem  queer  ?  But  I  ask  it. 
Could  a  man  be  a  party  boss,  and  satisfy 
you?" 

Hicks'  gaze  was  now  troubled  and  wild,  as 
if  he  were  trying  to  find  the  centre  of  the 
conception  with  his  focus,  and  could  not; 
as  if  the  attempt  to  look  at  the  conception 
with  other  than  a  set  hostility  was  to  break 
up  the  organisation  of  his  mind.  He  drew 
back,  his  finger  nails  scratching  across  the 
table,  and  hid  his  face.  Hennion  rose. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"You  ask  me!" 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  your  method  is  the 
right  one.  If  a  clock's  out  of  order,  I  don't 
think  shooting  into  it  is  the  right  method. 
I  dare  say  it  expresses  the  way  a  man  feels, 
but  I  don't  see  that  it  mends  the  clock.  But 
if  I  were  undertaking  to  mend  it,  and  didn't 
know  any  too  much  about  it,  I  might  like  to 


Hicks  175 

ask  the  man  that  was  for  shooting  what  his 
idea  was.  I  told  you  I  had  a  selfish  thirst 
for  knowledge.  Under  the  circumstances,  I 
beg  your  pardon." 

"Why  do  you  ask  me?"  Hicks'  fingers 
shook  on  the  table.  "  There's  a  man  who 
can  tell  you.  He  can  lead  you.  He  led  me, 
when  I  wasn't  a  fool." 

"Who?     You  mean  Aidee?" 

Hicks  nodded,  and  fell  to  glowering  at  his 
nervous  fingers,  absent  and  brooding. 

"  He  didn't  tell  you  to  shoot  Wood.  I 
know  better  than  that." 

"  No,  he  didn't." 

"  Why,  there's  another  thing  I'd  like  to 
know.  What  did  Aidee  do?" 

"  Do !  He  held  me  back !  He  was  always 
holding  me  back !  I  couldn't  stand  it !  "  he 
cried  sharply,  and  a  flash  of  anger  and 
impatience  went  over  his  face.  "  He 
shouldered  me  like  a  log  of  wood  on  his 
back.  Maybe  I  liked  that  papoose  arrange 
ment,  with  a  smothered  damn  fire  in  the 


176  Hicks 

heart  of  me.  No,  I  didn't !  I  had  to  break 
loose  or  turn  charcoal." 

Hennion  wondered.  The  man  reminded 
him  of  Aidee,  the  same  vivid  phrase,  the 
figures  of  speech.  But  Aidee  had  said  that 
he  did  not  know  him.  It  appeared  that  he 
must  know  him.  If  Aidee  had  been  lying 
about  it,  that  opened  sinister  suggestions. 
Hennion  did  not  like  Aidee,  neither  did  he 
like  in  himself  this  furtive  sense  of  satis 
faction  in  the  suggestions. 

"  Aidee  told  me  he  didn't  know  you.  I 
hadn't  thought  he  would  lie  about  it." 

"  By  God,  don't  call  him  a  liar  to  me! " 

Hicks  jumped  to  his  feet,  and  had  his 
wooden  chair  swung  over  his  back  in  an 
instant. 

"  I  don't.  I  want  it  explained,"  Hennion 
said  coolly.  "  You  can't  do  anything  with 
that.  Sit  down." 

"  He's  the  only  man  alive  that  dares  tell 
the  truth.  You're  all  hounds,  cowards, 
thieves !  He's  a  saint  in  hell !  " 


Hicks  177 


"  Likely  enough.  You're  a  hot  dis 
ciple.  Still,  I'm  waiting  for  an  explana 
tion." 

"  Don't  you  call  him  a  liar !  " 

"  Haven't.     Sit  down." 

Hicks  sat  down,  his  thin  hands  shaking 
painfully.  His  eyes  were  narrowed,  glitter 
ing  and  suspicious.  Hennion  tipped  his 
chair  back,  put  his  hands  into  his  pockets, 
and  looked  at  the  weak,  flickering  gas  jet, 
and  the  ripples  of  light  and  shadow  that 
crossed  the  whitewashed  ceiling.  They  were 
wild,  disordered,  and  fugitive,  as  if  reflec 
tions  from  the  spirit  behind  Hicks'  eyes, 
instead  of  from  the  jet  at  the  end  of  a  lead 
pipe. 

"  I'll  help  you  out  with  a  suggestion," 
Hennion  said  slowly.  "  You  don't  mean  to 
teave  Aidee  in  that  shape,  since  you  feel 
about  him  in  this  way.  But  you  don't  know 
whether  your  story  would  go  down  with  me, 
or  whether  it  might  not  get  Aidee  into 
trouble.  Now,  if  I'm  forecasting  that  story, 


178  Hicks 

it's  something  like  this.  You  knew  each 
other  years  ago,  not  in  Port  Argent." 

Hicks  said  nothing. 

"  Carried  you  around  papoose-fashion,  did 
he?  But  there's  some  likeness  between  you. 
It  might  happen  to  be  a  family  likeness." 

Still  no  comment. 

"If  it  so  happened,  you  might  be  related. 
You  might  be  twins.  And  then  again  you 
might  not.  You  might  have  been  his  first 
convert.  Partners  maybe  in  Nevada.  That 
was  where  he  came  from, — silver  mines  and 
what  not.  It's  no  business  of  mine." 

He  paused  and  meditated,  looking  at  the 
pulsating  light ;  then  brought  his  chair  down 
and  leaned  forward. 

"  I  take  the  liberty  to  disagree  with  you. 
I'm  no  exception  to  the  run  of  men,  and  I'm 
neither  a  hound,  nor  a  coward,  nor  a  thief, 
nor  yet  a  liar." 

"  I  know  you're  not." 

"  However,  your  story,  or  Aidee's,  is  no 
business  of  mine.  I  gave  you  those  infer- 


Hicks  179 

ences  because  they  occurred  to  me.  Nat 
urally  you'd  suspect  they  would.  So  they 
do.  Gabbling  them  abroad  might  make 
some  trouble  for  Aidee,  that's  true.  I 
shan't  gabble  them." 

"  I  know  you  won't." 

"  I  wanted  your  point  of  view  in  shooting 
Wood.  If  you  don't  see  your  way  to  give 
it,  all  right.  I  judge  it  was  the  same  way 
you  were  going  to  club  me  with  a  chair. 
Simple  enough  and  rather  silly.  Good 
night,  then.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for 
you?" 

"  Yes." 

Hennion  leaned  back  and  studied  the  gas 
light,  and  disliked  himself.  Hicks  clasped 
and  unclasped  his  hands  on  the  table. 

"  It  won't  hurt  him,"  he  said  hoarsely, 
"  between  you  and  me.  Besides,  you  can  do 
that  for  me.  He's  my  brother,  old  Al.  But 
I  cut  away  from  him.  I  kept  off.  I  kept 
away  from  him  for  a  while,  but  I  couldn't 
live  without  seeing  him.  You  see?  I 


180  Hicks 

couldn't  do  it.  Then  he  came  here,  and  I  fol 
lowed  him,  and  I  lived  with  a  shoemaker 
across  the  river  and  cobbled  shoes.  But  I 
heard  every  speech  he  made  in  Port  Argent, 
though  he  never  saw  me.  He  thinks  I'm 
dead,  don't  he  ?  I  dodged  him  pretty  slick." 
He  flushed  and  smiled— "  I  liked  it,"  he 
whispered,  growing  excited.  "  It  was  bet 
ter  'n  the  old  way,  for  we  got  along  all  right 
this  way.  You've  heard  of  him!  Ain't  he 
wonderful?  Ain't  he  a  great  one,  hey? 
That  was  Al.  I  liked  it,  but  he  didn't  know. 
You  see  ?  How'd  he  know  when  he  thought 
I  was  dead,  didn't  he?  I  watched  him,  old 
Al!" 

His  face  was  lit  up  with  the  warm  mem 
ory  of  it.  He  clicked  his  teeth,  and  swayed 
to  and  fro,  smiling. 

"  We  got  along  all  right  this  way.  All 
right.  My  idea.  Wasn't  Al's.  I  kept  the 
other  side  the  river,  mostly.  Nobody  can 
touch  him  when  he's  fired  up,  can  they? 
They  didn't  know  Al  like  I  knew  him.  They 


Hicks  181 

called  him  the  Preacher.  He  scared  'em  like 
prairie  fire.  He's  got  his  way.  I've  heard 
him.  I  watched  'em,  and  I  knew  him,  but 
they  didn't,  did  they?" 

He  focussed  his  excited  eyes  suddenly  on 
Hennion. 

"  You !  I  know  you ;  I  know  your  men 
that  live  on  the  east  side.  I  heard  a  man 
say  you'd  got  a  heart  like  a  baked  potato  and 
don't  know  it.  That  fat-headed  foreman  of 
yours,  Kennedy,  he  can  tell  you  more  'n  you 
ever  thought  of.  Think  you're  a  composite 
of  steel  and  brick,  set  up  according  to  laws 
of  mechanics,  don't  you  ?  Oh,  hell !  Go  and 
ask  Al.  He's  a  wonder.  Why  do  your 
men  like  you?  Go  and  ask  'em.  I've  told 
you  why.  Why'd  I  shoot  Wood?  Al 
wouldn't  have  let  me,  but  it  '11  do  good. 
He  scares  'em  his  way,  I  scare  'em  mine. 
You  wait  and  see !  It  '11  do  good." 

Hennion  studied  the  gas  jet,  until  he  could 
see  nothing  but  an  isolated  impish  dancing 
flame,  until  it  seemed  as  if  either  the  little 


1 82  Hicks 

man  across  the  table  were  chattering  far 
away  in  the  distance  and  darkness,  or  else 
he  and  the  gas  jet  were  one  and  the 
same. 

Aidee  had  been  four  years  in  Port  Argent, 
and  so  Hicks  had  been  following  and  watch 
ing  him,  cobbling  shoes,  living  a  fanciful, 
excited  life,  maniacal  more  or  less.  Hennion 
fancied  that  he  had  Hicks'  point  of  view 
now. 

"  You  wait  and  see!     It  '11  do  good." 
"Well,"    said    Hennion,    "I    dare    say 
you've  answered  the  question.    You  haven't 
told  me  yet  what  I  can  do  for  you." 

Hicks'  excitement  died  out  as  suddenly 
as  it  had  risen.  He  reached  a  trembling 
hand  across  the  table,  and  whispered : 

"  I    thought What    do    you    think 

they'll  do  tome?" 

"  I  can't  help  you  there.  You'll  have 
counsel." 

"  No,  no !  It's  this.  I  thought  I'd  write 
a  letter  to  Al,  and  you'd  give  it  to  him  after- 


Hicks  183 

wards,  a  year  afterwards — supposing — you 
see?" 

He  hesitated  pitifully. 

"  All  right,  I'll  do  that." 

"  I  won't  write  it  now." 

"  I  see." 

"You'll  keep  it  still?  You  won't  tell? 
You  won't  get  a  grudge  against  Al?  If  you 
do!  No.  I  know  about  you.  You  won't 
tell." 

"  No,  I  won't.    Well,  good-night,  then." 

"  Good-night." 

His  voice  was  husky  and  weak  now.  He 
put  out  his  hand,  hesitating.  Hennion  took 
it  promptly.  It  felt  like  a  wet,  withered  leaf. 

Hennion  went  and  knocked  at  the  door, 
which  Sweeney  opened.  Hicks  sat  still  by  the 
table,  looking  down,  straggling  locks  of  his 
black  hair  plastered  wet  against  his  white 
forehead,  his  finger  nails  scratching  the 
boards. 

The  door  clanged  to,  and  the  noise  echoed 
in  the  corridor. 


1 84  Hicks 

"  I  heerd  him  gettin'  some  excited,"  said 
the  jailor. 

"  Some." 

"Think  he's  crazy?" 

"  That's  for  the  court  to  say." 

"Ain't  crazier  'n  this  old  jail.  I  need  a 
new  one  bad,  Mr.  Hennion.  Look  at  them 
windows!  I  seen  mighty  clever  boys  here. 
A  sharp  one  could  dig  out  here  some  night, 
if  he  had  the  tools." 

"  Then  you'd  better  not  suggest  it  to 
Hicks." 

"Ho!  He  ain't  thinkin'  of  it.  He's  a 
weakly  man." 

"  No,  probably  not." 

"  He  ain't  got  the  tools,  either.  I  know 
the  business.  Look  at  the  experience  I've 
had!  But  I  need  a  new  jail,  Mr.  Hennion, 
bad,  as  I  told  Mr.  Wood." 

"  Better  write  out  a  statement  of  the 
case.  Good-night.  Much  obliged  for  your 
trouble." 

The  jailor  talked  busily  till  they  came  to 


Hicks  185 

the  outer  door.     Hennion  broke  away,  and 
left  him  in  the  doorway  smoking  his  short 

pipe. 

He  came  presently  to  sit  in  the  tall  Champ- 
ney  library,  and  heard  Henry  Champney 
speaking  in  that  tone  and  accent  which  made 
an  ordinary  remark  sound  like  one  of  the 
Ten  Commandments.  Camilla  was  silent. 

"Do  you  then,  ha!  cross  the  Rubicon?" 
Champney  asked. 

"  Wood's  organisation,  sir?  Carroll  and 
the  city  jailor  both  seem  to  think  it  a  fore 
gone  conclusion.  Sweeney  thinks  if  one  of 
his  '  boys  '  had  a  crowbar,  or  chisel,  or  a 
pair  of  tongs,  he'd  return  to  the  community ; 
so  he  wants  a  new  jail,  thinking  it  might 
include  a  new  salary." 


CHAPTER  X 
dftacclesfiett's 


HENNION  'knew  Wood's  organisation 
intimately  enough.  He  had  been  a 
part  of  it  on  the  outside.  Wood  had  been 
chairman  of  the  "  General  Committee,"  a 
body  that  had  total  charge  of  the  party's 
municipal  campaigns,  including  admission 
to  caucuses,  and  local  charge  in  its  general 
campaigns.  Local  nominations  were  decided 
there.  It  was  only  less  active  between  elec 
tions  than  during  them.  It  had  an  inner 
ring  which  met  by  habit,  socially,  in  Wood's 
office.  Whatever  was  decided  in  Wood's 
office,  it  was  understood,  would  pass  the 
Committee,  and  whatever  passed  the  Com 
mittee  would  pass  the  City  Council,  and  be 
welcomed  by  a  mayor  who  had  been  socially 
at  the  birth  of  the  said  measure.  Port  Ar 
gent  was  a  ring-led  city,  but  it  claimed  to 

186 


Macclesfield's  Bridge         187 

have  a  better  ring  than  ordinary.  Probably 
it  had.  Probably  this  was  due  in  the  main 
to  something  peculiar  in  Wood. 

Hennion's  election  to  the  chairmanship 
was  followed  by  a  meeting  in  his  office  that 
forced  a  sudden  investment  in  chairs.  It 
was  Thursday.  Carroll  was  there;  Mayor 
Beckett,  a  neatly  dressed  man  with  a  long 
neck  and  close-trimmed  black  beard,  talka 
tive,  casuistical,  a  lawyer  by  profession; 
Ranald  Cam,  President  of  the  Council,  solid, 
grim,  rugged,  devoid  of  grammar,  grown 
grey  in  the  game  of  politics,  and  for  some 
reason  unmatched  in  his  devotion  to  Wood's 
memory;  John  Murphy,  saloon-keeper  from 
East  Argent,  not  now  in  any  office,  an  over- 
barbered,  plastered,  and  gummy-looking 
person,  boisterous  and  genial;  J.  M.  Tait, 
small,  thin,  dry,  of  bloodless  complexion, 
sandy  hair,  and  infrequent  speech,  a  lawyer, 
supposed  to  represent  corporate  interests; 
Major  Jay  Tuttle,  President  of  the  School 
Board,  white-moustached  and  pompous. 


1 88        Macclesfield's  Bridge 

Port  Argent's  school  system  was  thought 
too  military  by  the  teachers  who  suffered 
under  it.  The  Major  stood  high  among 
Masons  and  G.  A.  R.'s.  Endless  gossip  and 
detail  might  be  given  of  all  these  men.  Hen- 
nion  knew  them  well,  some  of  them  as  far 
back  as  he  could  remember.  Each  of  them 
held  the  corner  threads  of  a  spreading  net 
work  of  influences  and  personal  interests. 
In  Hennion's  office  they  smoked  and  dis 
cussed.  They  varied  discussion  with  anec 
dotes  of  Wood. 

Major  Tuttle  wanted  two  of  the  ward 
schools  enlarged,  and  offered  plans  and  esti 
mates  of  competing  architects. 

"Any  preference,  Major?"  asked  Hen- 
nion. 

"  I  have  given  it  some  consideration/'  said 
the  Major  puffily,  and  stated  considerations. 

"  Well,"  Hennion  suggested,  "  why  not 
give  one  to  Smith  and  one  to  Hermon,  and 
tell  them  to  compete  for  glory.  It  might 
stir  them  up." 


Macclesfield's  Bridge         189 

The  circle  laughed  and  nodded. 

The  North  Shore  R.  R.  had  put  in  a  large 
proposition  involving  a  new  bridge  and  sta 
tion,  street  crossings,  and  various  rights  of 
way.  Tait  read  a  document  signed  "  Wm. 
R.  Macclesfield,  President."  Hennion  sug 
gested  that  they  offer  a  counter-proposi 
tion. 

"  We  don't  want  any  more  grade  cross 
ings  down  there.  What  makes  him  expect 
his  right  of  way  for  a  gift?  " 

"  You  know  what  they  chipped  in  this 
spring?  "  said  Tait,  looking  up. 

"  Pretty  much.  But  Wood  never  sold  out 
that  way,  did  he?"  He  turned  to  Ranald 
Cam. 

"  Marve  Wood  ain't  never  made  the  city 
a  bad  bargain  yet,"  growled  Cam,  "  for  all 
they  gas  about  it."  Tait  was  silent.  The 
others  disputed  at  length  on  obscure  historic 
points  in  Wood's  policy.  The  shadowy  influ 
ence  of  the  "  old  man  "  was  still  so  strong 
in  the  circle  that  no  one  ventured  to  put  any 


190        Macclesfield's  Bridge 

doubt  on  the  guiding  wisdom  of  whatever 
he  had  done.  They  only  disputed  points  of 
fact. 

"He  kept  things  solid,"  said  Carroll, 
"  that's  the  point." 

"  I  should  say  Macclesfield  would  have  to 
come  up,"  said  Hennion  at  last.  "  I'll  bring 
you  in  a  counter-estimate  next  week." 

When  the  circle  broke  up  an  hour  later, 
Tait  lingered  behind  the  rest.  Tuttle,  Beck 
ett,  and  Cam  went  up  Hancock  Street  to 
gether. 

"I  guess  Dick's  going  to  shut  down  on 
Tait,"  said 'Beckett.  "  Suit  me  all  right  if 
he  does.  Depends  on  how  he  handles  Mac 
clesfield,  don't  it?  He's  rather  prompt,  eh? 
I  wouldn't  exactly  say  brusque,  but  it  won't 
do  to  rough  Macclesfield.  Guess  you'd  bet 
ter  advise  him,  Major.  Say,  why  not?" 
Hennion  seemed  to  him  not  so  companion 
able,  so  comfortable  as  Wood. 

"  Possibly,  possibly,"  said  the  Major. 

Ranald  Cam  growled  in  his  beard.  Wood's 


Macclesfield's  Bridge         191 

death  was  a  heavy  blow  to  him.  Both  the 
elder  men  had  felt  the  touch  of  Hennion's 
deference  toward  them.  They  did  not  like 
Tait. 

"  Want  to  go  over  there  with  me,  Hen- 
nion?"  said  Tait,  puffing  his  black  cigar 
rather  fast.  "  See  Macclesfield  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  know  of." 

"  Suppose  I  bring  him  over  here  ?  " 

Hennion  stared  at  the  top  of  his  desk  for 
a  full  moment.  "All  right.  Come  in  an 
hour/' 

Tait  went  out,  and  Hennion  fell  to  figur 
ing. 

William  R.  Macclesfield  was  a  cultivated 
gentleman,  whose  personal  courtesies  to  all 
men  seemed  to  be  returned  by  fortune  in 
personal  courtesies  to  him.  Macclesfield's 
attractiveness  would  be  evident  at  first 
knowledge.  Persuasion  of  his  astuteness 
would  follow  not  long  after.  Precipitate 
judgments  on  his  character,  based  on  the  in 
terview  which  here  dropped  into  Hennion's 


192        Macclesfield's  Bridge 

experience  of  men  and  things,  were  as  well 
unmade.  Hennion  preferred  to  whistle  and 
consider  it. 

"  Should  I  congratulate  or  commiser 
ate?''  said  Macclesfield,  smiling  and  shak 
ing  hands. 

"  Commiserate,  thank  you." 
Macclesfield    sat    down    and    talked    on 
pleasantly. 

"  Yes,  yes.  Well,  it  may  not  be  so  bad  as 
you  think.     It  calls  for  great  judiciousness. 
Wood,  now,  was  a  remarkable,  I  should  say 
a  judicious,  man.     I  know.     Your  profes 
sion,  of  course.     Times  have  changed  since 
your  father  and  I  met  thirty,  yes,  forty  years 
ago.       He   was    proud   of   his   profession. 
Rightly  so.    Of  course,  rightly  so.    We  en 
joyed  ourselves,  too,  we  young  men.     The 
times  were  perhaps  a  little,   I  might  say, 
rugged.     Port  Argent  has  grown.     There 
have     been     remarkable    developments     in 
politics  and  engineering.    Nowadays  munic 
ipal  affairs  seem  to  call  for  a  manager  in  the 


MacclesfiehTs  Bridge         193 

background.  If  he's  apt  to  be  there,  it  must 
mean  he  is  needed,  but  it's  a  peculiar  posi 
tion.  You  are  quite  right.  But  you  were 
Wood's  choice,  and  he  was  a  very  judicious 
man.  You  find  it  takes  time  and  labour. 
Yes,  and  it  calls  for  ability.  Now,  it  is 
curious  that  some  people  seem  to  think  one 
in  that  position  ought  not  to  get  anything  for 
his  trouble.  I  call  that  absurd.  I  always 
found  in  railroading  that  time,  labour,  and 
ability  had  to  be  paid  for.  By  the  way,  you 
learned  engineering  from  your  father,  I 
think.  Yes,  an  old  friend  of  mine.  I  was 
thinking  coming  over  the  street  just  now 
with  Tait — I  was  thinking  what  fine  things 
he  did  in  his  profession.  Very  bold,  and 
yet  very  safe.  Remarkable.  And  yet  en 
gineering  was  almost  in  its  infancy  then." 

"  Yes,"  said  Hennion,  "  the  changes 
would  have  interested  him." 

"  Indeed  they  would !  So — the  fact  is — I 
was  thinking  that,  if  you  cared  to  submit 
plans,  I  should  personally  like  to  see  you 


194         Macclesfield's  Bridge 

build  that  bridge  of  ours.  I  should  person 
ally  like  to  see  what  Rick  Hennion's  son  can 
do.  An  elderly  man  like  me  can  be  forgiven 
a  little  sentiment,  even  in  business." 

Hennion  laughed.  Macclesfield  glanced 
up  suddenly,  but  saw  nothing  in  the  young 
man's  somewhat  impassive  face  to  trouble 
him. 

"  I'd  like  to  build  the  bridge,  of  course. 
You  don't  think  the  sentiment  needs  any 
forgiveness  from  me  ?  " 

"  My  dear  boy,  it's  perfectly  sincere ! 
You'll  submit  plans,  then?  " 

"  If  you  continue  to  want  them/' 

"  Good !  Now — oh !  Tait  said  something 
about  the  crossings.  You  think  the  figures 
too  low.  Tait  said  something  of  the  kind. 
Perhaps  they  are  a  little.  I'll  look  them  over 
again.  At  the  same  time,  you  realise  the 
feasibility  depends  on  expense.  We  want  to 
be  fair.  But  considering  how  much  more 
convenient  to  the  public  this  new  station  will 
be,  considering  the  benefit  of  that  arrange- 


Macclesfield's  Bridge         195 

ment,  you  think  the  city  ought  to  be 
moderate?  " 

"  Moderate  in  its  generosity/' 

"  Ah — I  don't  know — I  was  thinking  that 
we  understood  each  other — that  is — the  sit 
uation." 

Hennion  swung  in  his  chair. 

"  I  was  thinking,  Mr.  Macclesfield,  of  the 
advantages  of  candour,  and  I  was  wondering 
what  my  father  would  have  said  about  the 
situation.  Wouldn't  he  have  said,  in  his  can 
did  way,  that  a  personal  contract  and  the 
representative  disposal  of  either  city  or  trust 
properties  were  two  transactions  that  had 
better  not  be  mixed?" 

"  My  dear  boy,  who's  mixing  them  ?  " 

"  Well,  I'm  proposing  to  separate  them. 
We'll  take  your  station  scheme.  Consider 
ing  the  benefit  and  convenience,  as  you  say, 
the  city  can  afford  to  be  moderate,  but  it 
can't  afford  any  more  grade  crossings  down 
there.  You'll  have  to  come  in  by  a  sub 
way." 


196         Macclesfield's  Bridge 

Macclesfield  shook  his  head  smilingly. 

"  We  can't  afford  that,  you  see." 

"  Can't?  Well,  you  can  afford  what  you 
have  to.  May  I  ask  what  you  expect  to  get 
through  for,  from  Roper's  front  to  Maple 
Street?" 

"  Oh,  well — isn't  this  a  little  inquisi 
torial?" 

"  Not  necessary,  anyway.  I  know, 
about." 

He  named  a  figure.  Macclesfield  looked 
surprised. 

Hennion  went  on  slowly : 

"  The  offer  you  have  made  Roper  I  hap 
pen  to  know  that  he  won't  take  at  all.  You'll 
suspect,  then,  that  the  P.  and  N.  are  bidding 
against  you.  There'll  be  a  mess,  and  you'd 
better  not  be  in  it.  You  might  as  well  sus 
pect  it  now.  The  P.  and  N.  can  afford  any 
thing  they  choose." 

Macclesfield  said  nothing. 

"  I'm  going  to  make  a  suggestion,  Mr. 
Macclesfield,  if  you  like." 


Macclesfield's  Bridge         197 

"  By  all  means !  " 

"I'm  going  to  suggest  that  you  put  your 
bridge  a  half  mile  lower  down,  below  the 
boathouses,  and  come  up  back  of  the  Gas 
Works.  If  you  don't  know  the  holdings 
down  there  I'll  give  them  to  you." 

He  plunged,  without  waiting,  into  a 
stream  of  ordered  and  massed  figures,  fol 
lowing  the  suggested  line  from  point  to 
point,  massed  the  figures  of  the  Roper's 
front  to  Maple  Street  plan,  compared  them, 
and  went  on. 

"  The  Gas  Works  people  will  be  all  right. 
A.  J.  Lee  will  make  you  some  trouble. 
Dennis  Dolan,  being  one  of  your  stockhold 
ers,  won't.  You'll  save  about  half  on  your 
right  of  way.  Construction  will  be  consid 
erably  more.  You  get  an  easy  water-front 
instead  of  having  to  bid  against  the  P.  and 
N.  By  stopping  beyond  the  Gas  Works  in 
stead  of  going  on  to  Maple  Street  you'll 
save  seventy  thousand  at  least.  You'll  have 
the  marshes  to  develop  your  freight  yards 


198         Macclesfield's  Bridge 

without  much  limit.  The  station's  preferable 
there,  probably,  from  the  city's  standpoint. 
It  will  front  on  the  Boulevard,  if  the  Boule 
vard  ever  gets  down  there,  and  it  will.  You 
have  a  better  curve,  same  connection  with 
the  P.  and  N.,  and  this  one  here  with  the  L. 
and  S.  You'd  have  to  buy  right  and  left  on 
Maple  Street.  Here  you  get  your  site  in  a 
lump  from  Dolan  and  the  Gas  Works.  Now, 
we'll  take  your  approach  on  the  east  side." 

More  details  massed  and  ordered.  Mac- 
clesfield  listened  intently.  Tait  half  closed 
his  eyes  and  swung  one  nervous  foot.  Hen- 
nion  concluded  and  paused  a  moment. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Macclesfield,  allow  me  a  little 
more  candour.  It  amounts  to  this — first,  if 
you  can't  touch  me  with  a  bridge,  you  can't 
touch  me  with  anything." 

"  If  I  seemed  to  attempt  it,"  said  Maccles 
field,  "  I  owe  you  an  apology  for  my  awk 
wardness." 

"  None  at  all  for  anything.  Secondly,  a 
subway  and  no  grade  crossings  this  side  the 


Macclesfield's  Bridge         199 

Gas  Works  or  on  Lower  Bank  Street  is 
final,  so  far  as  I  can  make  it  so.  Thirdly, 
your  proposal  that  I  put  in  plans  for  the  new 
bridge  can  now  be  very  properly  with 
drawn." 

Macclesfield  smoothed  his  face  thought 
fully. 

"  I  don't  deny  a  certain  amount  of  sur 
prise.  You  have  discussed  the  subject  very 
ably.  I'd  rather  you'd  let  me  have  that  in 
the  form  of  a  report." 

"  All  right." 

"  And  you'll  add  a  preliminary  estimate 
on  the  bridge?  I — don't,  in  fact,  withdraw 
it." 

He  rose  and  shook  hands  with  Hennion. 

"  So  you  think  the  sentiment  wasn't  sin 
cere?  Well,  I  don't  know.  I  sometimes 
have  them." 

"  Tait,"  he  said,  as  they  went  down  the 
stairs.  "  That  young  man — for  God's  sake 
don't  let's  have  any  trouble  with  him." 

"  Is  he  going  to  bite  or  build?  " 


200         Macclesfield's  Bridge 

"  Build !  Bless  my  soul,  I  hope  so !  A 
young  man — a — that  won't  lose  his  temper ! 
He  didn't  turn  a  hair !  Bless  my  soul,  Tait, 
I  hope  so!" 

Hennion  was  left  to  swing  in  his  chair,  to 
whistle  and  consider,  to  wonder  what,  in 
fact,  might  be  the  true  sentiments  of  Will 
iam  R.  Macclesfield,  who  had  retreated 
neatly,  to  say  the  least.  A  slippery  man,  a 
little  fishy,  who  slid  around  in  a  situation 
as  if  it  were  water.  Perhaps  that  was  injus 
tice.  Whether  it  were  sincerity,  or  neatness, 
he  had  left  Hennion  with  a  sense  of  having 
done  him  an  injustice. 

He  turned  to  his  desk  and  figured  and 
wrote  for  half  an  hour;  then  pushed  aside 
the  papers  and  went  out.  He  thought  he 
would  go  over  to  East  Argent  and  see  how 
Kennedy  was  getting  on  with  the  grading. 
Before  he  had  gone  far  he  changed  his 
mind. 

The  grading  job  was  not  interesting. 
Kennedy  could  look  after  it.  It  might  be 


Macclesfield's  Bridge         201 

better  to  let  him  work  alone  for  a  day  or 
two,  without  watching;  it  would  cheer  up 
Kennedy  not  to  feel  eternally  disgraced  for 
blundering  with  his  sand  layer,  or  to  feel 
that  he  had  to  go  around  acting  like  a  deso 
late  orphan  about  it. 

He  took  a  car  down  Lower  Bank  Street, 
past  the  boathouses,  and  there  paced  the 
high  wet  and  weedy  river  bank.  Then  he 
turned  west  through  some  miles  of  empty 
acres.  Low  marshy  lands  lay  on  his  right, 
misty  and  warm  in  the  distance,  vividly 
green  nearby.  Now  and  again  he  crossed  a 
street  that  had  been  thrust  out  speculatively 
from  the  vague  verge  of  the  city  to  tempt 
inhabitants.  Cheap  new  houses  were  strung 
along  them  at  wide  intervals.  The  Gas  Works 
had  huge  furnaces  and  a  cluster  of  built- 
up  streets  about  them.  He  followed  the  line 
of  the  Boulevard  surveys,  absorbed,  often 
stopping  and  making  notes.  He  came 
through  a  stretch  of  cornfield  and  pasture. 
If  the  city  bought  it  in  here  before  it  began 


202        Macclesfield's  Bridge 

to  develop  the  section,  it  would  be  shrewd 
investment.  The  marshes  would  be  crossed 
by  an  embankment. 

A  half  mile  further  on  he  vaulted  over  a 
high  fence  and  plunged  into  the  wet  woods 
and  open  spaces,  scrubby  and  weedy,  of 
Wabash  Park,  a  stretch  of  three  hundred 
acres  and  more,  bought  spasmodically  by  the 
city  some  years  back  and  then  left  to  its  own 
devices.  It  was  useful  now  mainly  to  small 
boys,  who  speared  frogs  in  the  broad,  slug 
gish  creek  that  twisted  through  between 
banks  of  slippery  clay. 

The  Boulevard  was  another  spasmodic 
vision  of  a  forgotten  commissioner.  It  was 
planned  to  run  somewhat  in  the  shape  of  a 
half  circle,  around  the  city,  from  a  river- 
bank  park  on  the  north  to  a  river-bank 
park  on  the  south,  with  Wabash  Park  mid 
way.  Hennion  tried  to  fancy  himself  a 
landscape  gardener.  He  stood  a  long  while 
staring  down  at  the  creek,  which  was  brimful 
with  the  spring  rains.  Pools  of  brown  water 


Macclesfield's  Bridge        203 

lay  all  about  the  bottom  lands  and  in  the 
brush. 

To  build  a  bridge  as  it  should  be  built, 
to  shape  a  city  as  it  should  be  shaped,  to 
make  Port  Argent  famous  for  its  moon- 
shaped  Boulevard,  to  accomplish  something 
worth  while,  to  make  a  name — it  looked 
like  a  weedy  road  to  travel  in,  and  no  small 
trick  to  keep  out  of  the  mud.  Still,  after 
all,  the  mud  was  mostly  in  the  ruts.  People 
said  you  couldn't  get  ahead  there  without 
splashing  through  the  ruts.  Maybe  not. 
There  would  be  blackguarding  probably. 
But  Macclesfield  had  been  handled  anyway. 

Wabash  Park  was  a  scrubby-looking  place 
now.  Beckett  would  have  to  be  sent  after 
the  Park  Board,  to  tell  them  to  clean  it  up. 
By  the  way,  Macclesfield  was  on  that  effort 
less,  or  otherwise  busy  Park  Board.  The 
rest  of  the  commissioners  didn't  know  a 
landscape  from  a  potato  patch.  Maccles 
field  was  the  man.  He  might  be  persuaded 
to  have  a  sentiment  on  the  subject. 


204        Macclesfield's  Bridge 

Hennion  followed  the  creek  out  of  the 
park  to  a  lately  macadamised  road.  A  wide, 
straight,  half-made  highway  started  from 
the  other  side  of  the  road  and  stretched  a 
half  mile  across  country,  with  small  maples 
planted  regularly  on  either  side.  It  was  all 
of  the  Boulevard  and  the  spasmodic  commis 
sioner's  vision  that  had  ever  been  realised. 
So  it  remained  a  fragment,  of  no  use  to  any 
one,  one  of  Port  Argent's  humourous  civic 
capers. 

Beyond  this,  following  the  surveys,  he 
came  through  a  rough  and  noisy  neighbour 
hood — factories,  and  unkempt  streets,  empty 
lots  strewn  with  refuse — and  came  to  the 
canal,  the  great  Interstate  Canal,  built  by 
Hennion  the  elder.  It  was  idle  now.  The 
water  splashed  musically  from  its  lock  gates, 
and  the  towpath  was  overgrown.  Then  fol 
lowed  pastures  with  cattle  in  them,  and 
fields  where  men  were  ploughing.  He  came 
to  the  river  bank  at  last,  where  Wyandotte 
Park  lay,  popular  already  for  Sunday  after- 


Macclesfield's  Bridge        205 

noons,  popular  somewhat  on  any  afternoon 
in  spring  and  summer  for  picnics  and  boat 
ing.  It  was  dotted  with  stalls  of  the  sellers 
of  hard  drinks  and  cigars,  sellers  of  soft 
drinks  and  chewing  gum.  It  possessed  a 
band  and  an  incipient  menagerie,  a  merry- 
go-round,  a  boathouse,  and  several  flamboy 
ant  restaurants.  It  was  the  cheerfullest 
place  in  Port  Argent  on  a  Sunday  after 
noon. 

The  day  was  almost  gone.  Hennion's  note 
book  was  half-full  of  mysterious  jottings, 
and  his  shoes  caked  with  clay,  the  slimy  blue 
mud  that  sticks  and  stains  and  is  the  mother 
of  harvests.  The  river  had  a  swifter  cur 
rent  here  than  lower  down,  and  there  were 
marshy  islands,  steep  bluffs  on  either  side, 
and  up-stream  a  vista  of  deeply- wooded 
shores. 

He  stood  near  the  merry-go-round  and 
watched  the  crowd.  He  wondered  if  it  were 
not  peculiar  for  a  man  to  know  so  many 
people  as  he  did,  to  know  almost  everyone  in 


206         Macclesfield's  Bridge 

Port  Argent.  It  had  always  been  a  fact  to 
some  extent.  But  Port  Argent  was  getting 
to  be  a  large  city.  Still,  he  had  an  impres 
sion  that  strange  faces  and  unnamed  were 
rather  an  exception.  Most  faces  that  he  saw 
were  familiar.  He  looked  around  him  in 
the  park. 

Here  were  three  young  girls  sipping  soda 
water.  He  did  not  know  them.  Wait! 
They  were  all  three  daughters  of  Kottar,  the 
baker  on  Maple  Street.  They'd  been  grow 
ing  up.  And  here  came  Kottar  himself 
with  the  rest  of  the  flock,  taking  an  after 
noon's  pleasure.  Here  were  two  men  get 
ting  on  the  trolley  car.  They  appeared  to 
be  mainly  drunk.  No  use !  He  knew  them 
too.  One  of  them  was  Jimmy  Shays,  shoe 
maker,  on  Muscadine  Street,  east  side;  the 
other  was  Tom  Coglan,  one  time  a  dray 
man,  another  time  one  of  a  batch  of  John 
Murphy's,  which  batch  Hennion  had  helped 
John  Murphy  to  get  jobs  for  with  the  Trac 
tion  Company.  Coglan  and  Shays  lived  in 


Macclesfield's  Bridge         207 

a  house  on  Muscadine  Street,  with  an  out 
side  stairway.  Hicks,  who  shot  Wood, 
used  to  live  there  too;  grocery  store  under 
neath,  grocer  named  Wilson.  Names  of 
Kottar's  children,  remembered  to  have  once 
been  so  stated  by  Kottar,  Nina,  Katherine, 
Henry,  Carl,  William,  Adela,  and  Elizabeth. 
One  appeared  to  remember  things  useful, 
like  the  price  per  gross  of  three-inch  screws 
at  present  quoting,  as  well  as  things  useless, 
like  the  price  three  years  ago.  Hennion 
thought  such  an  inveterate  memory  a 
nuisance. 

Coglan  and  Shays  appeared  to  be  happy. 
Everybody  appeared  to  be  happy  in  Wyan- 
dotte  Park.  Hennion  concluded  that  he 
liked  Wyandotte  Park  and  its  people. 
When  you  knew  them,  you  found  they  differ 
little  for  better  or  worse  from  Herbert 
Avenue  people,  Secors  and  Macclesfields — 
all  people,  and  a  mixed,  uncertain  article  to 
deal  in. 

He  sat  down  on  the  roots  of  a  tree.     It 


208        Macclesfield's  Bridge 

grew  on  the  edge  of  a  bluff  over  the  river,  a 
survival  of  that  fraternity  of  trees  which 
had  covered  the  whole  section  but  a  few 
generations  back. 

"  Mighty  good  luck  to  be  young,  Dick," 
the  "  Governor  "  had  said,  and  died,  calling 
his  life  on  the  whole  satisfactory,  on  account 
of  the  good  times  he  had  had,  and  the  work 
that  he  knew  he  had  done  as  it  should  be 
done. 

Hennion  thought  he  would  go  and  tell 
Camilla  about  the  Boulevard.  He  caught  a 
car  and  went  back  to  the  centre  of  the  town. 

When  he  came  to  the  Champney  house 
late  in  the  evening,  Alcott  Aidee  was  there, 
though  about  to  leave.  It  struck  Hennion 
that  Aidee's  being  about  to  leave  was  not  an 
absolute  compensation  for  his  being  there, 
but  he  did  not  have  time  to  examine  the  im 
pression.  Camilla  had  been  reading  Charlie 
Carroll's  sinister  paragraphs  on  "  a  certain 
admired  instigator  of  crime."  She  dashed 
into  the  subject  as  soon  as  Aidee  was  gone. 


Macclesfield's  Bridge        209 

"He  says  he  doesn't  care  about  it,"  she 
cried,  "  but  I  do!" 

"  Do  you?     Why?" 

"Why!" 

Camilla  paused,  either  from  stress  of  feel 
ing  or  inability  altogether  to  say  why. 
Hennion  had  seen  the  paragraphs,  but  had 
not  thought  about  them. 

"  Well,  if  you  mean  it's  not  just,  Milly,  I 
don't  suppose  Carroll  ever  bothers  about 
that.  There's  a  good  deal  of  give  and  take 
in  politics.  Aidee  has  given  it  pretty 
sharply  himself.  I  dare  say  he  knows  how 
to  take  it." 

"  It's  wicked ! "  cried  Camilla  pas 
sionately. 

Hennion  laughed. 

"Well— he  needn't  have  called  Wood 
names — that's  true." 

"  If  you're  going  to  laugh  about  it,  you 
can  go  away !  " 

" '  Instigator  of  crime/  isn't  so  strong 
as  *  thief,'  is  it  ?  It's  a  pity  they  can't  get 


21  o         MacclesfielcTs  Bridge 

along  without  blackguarding  each  other,  but 
probably  they  can't." 

Camilla  turned  away.  Her  indignation 
was  too  genuine,  and  sobered  him. 

"  My  dear  girl !  I  don't  suppose  Wood 
was  properly  called  a  '  thief '  nor  Aidee 
'  an  instigator  of  crime.'  Probably  Aidee 
believes  what  he  says.  Probably  Carroll 
hasn't  the  remotest  idea  what  he  believes. 
What  of  it  ?  I've  been  tramping  the  wilder 
ness  of  Port  Argent  all  day  and  seeing  vis 
ions,  Milly,  and  I'd  rather  not  quarrel.  Did 
Aidee  say  he  was  going  to  do  anything  in 
particular  ?  " 

"  He  said  he  was  going  to  see  Mr.  Hicks." 

"What!" 

"  To  see  Mr.  Hicks  to-night.  Of  course 
he'll  go  to  comfort  someone  that  nobody 
else  will,"  cried  Camilla  breathlessly,  "  and 
of  course  you'll  say  he'd  be  wiser  to  keep 
away  and  nurse  his  reputation,  because 
people  will  talk.  Perhaps  you  think  it 
proves  he's  an  anarchist,  and  makes  bombs." 


Macclesfield's  Bridge         21 1 

"  You  go  too  fast  for  me."  He  thought 
he  did  not  dislike  Aidee  so  much  that  he 
would  not  have  stopped  his  going  to  see 
Hicks,  if  he  could.  He  was  not  quite  clear 
why  he  disliked  him  at  all. 

It  was  a  turn  of  mind,  characteristic  of 
the  Hennions,  somewhat  of  the  grimly  phil 
osophical,  which  set  him  to  thinking  next 
that  Aidee's  situation  now,  in  the  white 
washed  cell  with  the  alias  Hicks,  must  be 
confusing  and  not  pleasant,  that  his  own  sit 
uation  was  vastly  more  comfortable,  and  that 
these,  on  the  whole,  were  not  bad  situations. 

He  set  himself  to  the  fascinating  task  of 
making  Camilla's  eyes  shine  with  excite 
ment, — but  he  did  not  seem  to  succeed, — 
over  the  subject  of  a  moon-shaped  Boule 
vard,  strung  with  parks,  like  a  necklace 
around  a  lady's  throat. 

"  I  worked  out  that  figure  of  speech  for 
you,  Milly.  It's  a  beauty.  Port  Argent  is 
the  lady.  A  necklace  ought  to  raise  her  self- 
respect.  She'll  have  three  hundred  acres  of 


212        MacclesfielcTs  Bridge 

brooch  in  the  middle  called  Wabash  Park. 
She's  eight  miles  on  the  curve  from  shoulder 
to  shoulder.  I  walked  it  to-day.  It  struck 
me  she  needed  washing  and  drying." 

True,  Camilla's  indignation  seemed  to 
fade  away.  She  said,  "  That's  tremendously 
nice,  Dick,"  and  stared  into  the  fire  with 
absent  wistful  eyes. 

He  drew  nearer  her  and  spoke  lower, 
"  Milly." 

"  No,  no !     Don't  begin  on  that !  " 

Presently  he  was  striding  up  Lower  Bank 
Street,  hot-hearted  with  his  disappointment. 

"  Well,  Port  Argent  shall  have  her  neck 
lace,  anyhow.  Maybe  I  shan't.  But  I  will, 
though!" 

He  went  through  the  Court  House  Square 
past  the  old  jail,  glanced  up  under  the  trees 
at  Hicks'  barred  window. 

"  Aidee's  getting  a  black  eye  too  in  there," 
he  thought.  "  That's  too  bad." 

When  he  reached  his  rooms  he  was  al 
ready  thinking  of  Macclesfield's  bridge. 


M 


CHAPTER   XI 
Gbe  Jfirotbers 

AY  I  see  Hicks?" 
The  stout,  bearded  jailor  nearly 
rilled  the  doorway.  He  puffed  his  short 
pipe  deliberately,  and  stared  at  Aidee.  The 
smoke  floated  up  and  around  the  gas  jet  over 
his  head. 

"  Ain't  you  the  Preacher?  " 

"  So  they  call  me." 

The  jailor  stepped  back,  either  in  surprise 
or  consent.  Aidee  walked  into  the  opening 
and  passed  on.  The  jailor  followed  him. 

"Where  is  his  cell?" 

"  Spiritual  consolation !  That's  it.  That's 
the  word,"  said  the  jailor  thoughtfully. 
"  Some  folks  has  the  gift  of  it.  Oils  a  chap 
up,  don't  it,  so  he'll  slip  out'n  his  corpse, 
like  he  was  greased.  Well,  there's  som'p'n 
in  it.  But  I  seen  in  the  Press  this  mornin' — 
213 


214  The  Brothers 

say,  you  ain't  goin'  to  instigate  him 
again?  " 

Aidee  laughed,  and  said : 

"  They  have  to  be  lively." 

"That's  right,  Preacher.  Folks  say  a 
thing,  but  what  they  got  in  their  heads  is 
the  thing  they  don't  say,  ain't  it?  " 

"  You're  a  philosopher." 

"Oh,  I  do  a  pile  of  thinkin',"  said  the 
jailor  complacently. 

He  mounted  slowly  to  the  upper  corridor, 
knocked  at  a  door,  and  unlocked  it. 

"  Hicks,  gentleman  to  see  you." 

Hicks  looked  up,  blinking  and  shading  his 
eyes. 

The  jailor  locked  the  door  noisily  behind 
Aidee,  and  walked  away.  At  the  end  of  the 
corridor  he  stopped  and  listened,  and  heard 
the  murmur  of  low  voices.  He  sat  down 
and  tipped  his  chair  against  the  wall  and 
meditated. 

"  Spiritual  consolation !  That's  the 
word." 


The  Brothers  215 

Alcott  leaned  his  back  against  the  wall, 
and  stared  at  Allen,  who  ran  to  his  side  and 
grasped  his  arm  and  whispered,  "  Don't  you 
yell  out !  "  while  Sweeney  was  locking  the 
door  noisily.  Sweeney's  steps  receded  in 
the  corridor. 

"What  do  you  come  here  for?  Keep 
quiet!" 

"Lolly!" 

"  Who  told  you  it  was  me?  " 

He  pulled  him  over  to  the  table.  They 
sat  down  and  gripped  hands  across  and 
looked  dumbly  at  each  other.  Allen  broke 
down  first.  He  dropped  his  head  on  the 
table  and  gave  soft,  dry  sobs. 

"Lolly,  boy!" 

"  Did  he  tell  you  it  was  me?  " 

"Who?" 

"Hennion!" 

"  Nobody  told  me  it  was  you." 

"  You  came  to  see  Hicks !" 

He  looked  up  suddenly  with  an  impish 
grin.  "Hey!  I  know!  You  wanted  to 


21 6  The  Brothers 

ask  me  what  I  shot  Wood  for?  That's  what 
they  all  want  to  know." 

It  was  the  same  twisted  smile  that  Alcott 
knew  so  well,  two-thirds  on  one  side  of  his 
face,  the  same  shy,  freakish  look  in  the  eyes 
as  of  a  cornered  animal.  They  used  to 
laugh  at  home  over  Lolly's  queer  smile — 
Lolly  the  original,  the  unexpected,  the  sud 
den  and  fierce  in  his  small  resentments,  yet 
how  passionately  loving,  and  how  lovable 
and  clever !  They  used  to  think  so  at  home. 
Here  he  was,  then,  with  his  twisted  smile, 
and  hot,  black  eyes  and  jerking,  vivid  speech. 
His  thin,  straggling  beard  had  changed  his 
looks.  He  had  aged  fast  in  the  six  years. 
Alcott  thought  he  would  hardly  have  recog 
nised  him  at  a  little  distance.  So — why, 
Hicks! — Carroll  said  Hicks  used  to  drink 
down  Alcott's  own  speeches  like  brandy! 
Hicks  had  killed  Wood! 

"  What  else  have  you  been  up  to,  Lolly? 
That's  the  worst  job  yet." 

The  eyes  of  each  regarded  the  other's 


The  Brothers  217 

hungrily.    Allen  chattered  on  in  a  low,  ex 
cited  voice. 

"  Old  Al,  I  love  you  so !  Forgive  me 
seventy  times  seven.  Hey!  I  heard  every 
speech  you  made,  pretty  near.  What  do 
you  think?  Say!  What  '11  they  do  to 
me  ?  "  he  whispered,  turning  to  the  window. 
"  I  wished  I  could  get  out.  Say,  Al,  when 
you  were  in  Nevada  at  Beekman's,  where  do 
you  suppose  I  was?  Over  the  divide  at 
Secor's  Lode,  Number  Two,  and  you  came 
near  spotting  me  once !  I  ain't  a  fool,  any 
way.  I  dodged  you  neat.  I  lived  on  the 
east  side  with  Jimmy  Shays.  Say,  he's  a 
fool.  I  can  sole  two  shoes  to  his  one.  But 
sometimes  I  don't  remember,  Al.  I  tried 
to  remember  how  Mummy  looked,  and  I 
couldn't.  But  I  used  to  remember.  But, 
Al,  what  'd  you  come  for?  Say,  I  cleared 
the  track  of  Wood  all  right.  Say,  they'd 
never  have  caught  me,  if  I'd  got  away  then. 
They  were  too  many.  I  kept  out  of  your 
way  all  right.  I  wasn't  going  to  mess  you 


2i 8  The  Brothers 

again,  and  that  suited  me  all  right,  that  way. 
I  pegged  shoes  along  with  old  Shays. 
Damn  greasy  Irishman,  there,  Coglan.  I'll 
knife  him  some  day.  No !  No !  I  won't, 
Al!  Forgive  me  seventy  times.  I  got 
something  in  me  that  burns  me  up.  I  ain't 
going  to  last  long.  Let  'em  kill  me.  God, 
I  was  proud  of  you !  I  used  to  go  home  like 
dynamite,  and  collar  old  Shays,  and  yell, 
'Down  with  'em!  Where's  justice?' 
'Wha's  matter?  '  says  Shays.  'Where  is  't?  ' 
and  goes  hunting  for  justice  at  the  bottom 
of  a  jug  of  forty-rod  whiskey.  Oh,  Al! 
Al !  Ain't  we  a  sad  story,  you  and  I  ?  " 

He  broke  down  again,  chattering,  sobbing 
with  soft,  small  sobs,  and  hid  his  face  on  the 
table.  The  gas  jet  leaped  and  fell,  feebly, 
fitfully.  The  noises  of  the  city,  the  roll  of 
wheels  and  clang  of  street-car  gongs,  came 
in  through  the  barred  window. 

"  I  was  running  myself,  too,  Al,  and  that 
made  me  feel  better.  I  been  happy  some 
times." 


The  Brothers  219 

"  Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me,  Lolly?  " 

"  Yes.  But  you  ain't  going  to  hold  me 
down.  Now,  say,  Al,"  he  pleaded,  "  don't 
you  give  it  away !  Folks  'd  be  down  on  you. 
I  ain't  like  I  used  to  be.  I'm  proud  of  you, 
now.  I  ain't  going  to  mess  you  any  more, 
but  I've  done  something  myself,  ain't  I? 
Done  for  myself  too,  ain't  I?  " 

"  I've  got  to  think  this  out.  That  was 
all  wrong,  boy.  That  old  man,  Wood,  had 
a  right  to  his  life." 

"He  had  no  right!" 

Allen  was  on  his  feet,  two  fingers  shaking 
in  the  air. 

"  Quiet,  Lolly !  Sweeney's  in  the  corridor. 
I'm  not  blaming  you.  Why  didn't  you 
come  to  me?  I'd  have  let  you  live  as  you 
liked.  I'm  going  away  to  think  it  out. 
Never  mind.  I  say,  drop  it,  Lolly!  We'll 
sled  together  again.  I've  said  it,  and  you 
can  quit  talking." 

Allen  clung  to  his  hand. 

"  You're  coming  again,  Al." 


220  The  Brothers 

He  felt  Alcott's  old  mastery  gripping  him 
again,  the  same  thing  that  had  always  been 
to  him  the  foundation  of  his  existence,  and 
yet  always  intolerable  and  smothering.  Not 
being  able  to  live  without  Alcott,  nor  yet 
with  him,  the  four  years  in  Port  Argent  had 
seemed  a  clever  solution — not  with  Alcott, 
nor  yet  without  him ;  free  of  his  smothering 
control,  but  seeing  his  face  and  hearing  his 
voice. 

He  rattled  on  half  hysterically,  while 
Alcott  gripped  his  hand  across  the  table,  and 
said  little. 

Gradually  the  picture  took  shape  in 
Alcott's  mind,  and  his  mental  image  of  the 
last  four  years  changed  form  and  line  of 
the  new  demand.  He  saw  Allen  going 
home  nights  from  the  Assembly  Hall,  with 
his  light,  jerky  step,  exulting,  hugging  him 
self  gleefully.  How  he  had  hated  Al's 
enemies !  How  he  had  longed  to  kill  Carroll 
for  sneering  at  Al  in  choppy  paragraphs! 
How  he  had  hated  Marve  Wood,  whom  Al 


The  Brothers  221 

called  a  "  disease  " !  How  he  had  lurked  in 
the  shadow  under  the  gallery  of  the  Assem 
bly  Hall !  How  he  had  pegged  shoes  and 
poured  his  excitement,  in  vivid  language, 
into  the  ears  of  the  east-side  loafers  in  the 
shoe-shop!  How  flitted  back  and  forth 
over  the  Maple  Street  bridge,  where  the 
drays  and  trolley  cars  jangled,  where  the 
Muscadine  flowed,  muddy  and  muttering, 
below! 

"  You've  been  in  Port  Argent  all  this 
time ! "  Alcott  said  at  last.  "  I  wouldn't 
have  talked  that  way  if  I'd  known  you  were 
there." 

"Say!  You'd  have  been  afraid?  No! 
Why,  you  ain't  afraid  of  anything,  Al !  " 

"  I  was  always  afraid  of  you." 

"What  for?  You're  coming  again, 
Al!" 

"  You  don't  think  I'm  going  to  let  you 
alone  now ! " 

"  I  ain't  going  to  mess  you  over  again ! 
No ! "  he  whispered,  twisting  his  fingers. 


222  The  Brothers 

Alcott  knitted  his  black  brows  and  held  his 
hand  over  the  nervous  fingers. 

"Drop  it,  Lolly!" 

"  What  you  going  to  do  ?  You're  coming 
again  ?  "  His  voice  was  thin  and  plaintive. 

"  Yes." 

"How  soon?" 

"  To-morrow.  I've  got  to  think  it  over. 
I  can't  stay  now,  Lolly." 

He  rose  and  went  to  the  door  and  rattled 
it.  Sweeney's  steps  came  slowly  down  the 
corridor.  Allen  sat  still  while  the  jailor 
opened  the  door. 

"  I'll  see  you  again,  then,  Mr.  Hicks." 

Allen  looked  up  suddenly  with  an  impish 
grin. 

"Pretty  cool,  ain't  he?"  said  Sweeney 
presently.  "  I  didn't  hear  much  noise. 
Now,  when  Mr.  Hennion  came  here — look 
here,  I  told  Mr.  Hennion — why,  you  look 
at  it,  now!  There  ought  to  be  a  new 
jail." 

"  I  see.     Not  very  creditable." 


The  Brothers  223 

"  Why,  no."  Sweeney  argued  in  an  in 
jured  tone.  "  Look  at  it !  " 

"  I  want  to  bring  Hicks  a  book  or  two. 
May  I?" 

"  Why,  I  guess  so." 

Aidee  went  home,  hurrying,  not  knowing 
why  he  hurried.  His  hands  felt  cold,  his 
head  hot  and  dizzy.  He  longed  to  hide  and 
not  see  the  faces  on  the  street,  faces  which 
all  judged  that  Lolly  should  die. 

"  Brotherhood  of  man ! "  He  had  a 
brother,  one  whom  the  rest  of  the  brother 
hood  wanted  to  hang,  a  small  man,  with  a 
queer  smile  and  wriggling  fingers,  sitting 
under  the  dim  gas  jet. 

Even  in  his  familiar  rooms  he  could  not 
think  or  sleep.  He  saw  before  him  days 
upon  days,  courts  and  lawyers,  preparations 
for  the  trial,  the  long  doubt,  and  what  then  ? 
Only  a  black  pit  full  of  things  intolerable, 
not  to  be  looked  at.  Yet  it  stood  there 
stolidly,  in  front. 

The  Assembly?     He  would  rather  have 


224  The  Brothers 

Wood  than  the  Assembly  to  help  him  here, 
or  Hennion,  or  Secor.  But  neither  Hennion 
nor  Secor  would  help  him  here.  They 
were  men  of  the  crowd  in  the  street,  who 
all  preferred  to  hang  Lolly. 

At  daybreak  he  rose,  dressed,  and  went 
out.  It  was  Friday  morning.  The  air  was 
fresh  and  damp.  He  looked  at  the  Assembly 
building  opposite,  and  fancied  himself  speak 
ing  from  the  familiar  wide  platform  within, 
saying :  "  I  am  the  brother  of  Hicks,  the 
murderer,  in  your  jail — I  who  lied  to  you, 
calling  you  my  brethren,  protesting  one 
universal  bond,  who  have  but  one  brother 
and  one  bond  of  blood, — to  you  who  are  my 
enemies.  His  name  is  Allen  Aidee,  and 
your  name  is  Legion." 

People  called  him  abrupt  and  sensational. 
It  would  be  a  relief  to  speak  so,  sharp  and 
harsh,  like  the  breaking  of  a  window  glass 
with  one's  fist  in  a  stifling  room. 

He  thought  of  the  scores  of  times  he  had 
looked  on  the  crowd  of  faces  from  the  plat- 


The  Brothers  225 

form  there,  and  he  tried  now  to  put  into 
each  picture  one  more  item,  namely,  Allen 
sitting  far  back  in  the  shadow  under  the 
gallery.  When  he  had  put  this  item  in,  it 
covered  up  the  rest  of  the  picture. 

Probably  Allen  used  to  go  across  the  river 
by  following  the  side  streets  over  to  Maple 
Street,  and  so  to  the  bridge.  Alcott  left 
Seton  Avenue  and  walked  toward  Maple 
Street  through  that  still  sleeping  section  of 
the  city.  On  Maple  Street,  the  trolley  cars 
were  beginning  to  run,  milk  waggons  clat 
tered  over  the  rough  pavement. 

"  Poor  boy!" 

Lolly  claimed  to  have  been  happy  during 
those  four  years.  After  all,  the  arrange 
ment  he  had  made  was  characteristic,  the 
very  kind  of  thing  he  would  be  apt  to  do. 
Alcott  wondered  why  he  had  never  suspected 
that  Allen  was  lurking  near  him. 

Down  Maple  Street,  then,  Allen's  regular 
road  must  have  lain.  How  often  he  must 
have  gone  over  the  bridge,  his  nerves  twitch- 


226  The  Brothers 

ing  and  his  head  blazing  with  Alcott's  last 
words !  Here  was  the  hurrying  muddy 
river,  running  high  now  with  the  spring 
floods,  mad,  headlong,  and  unclean.  Not  an 
inch  beyond  its  surface  could  one  see.  A 
drowned  body  might  float,  and  if  an  inch  of 
water  covered  it,  no  man  would  know. 

Doctrines  and  theories!  Do  this,  and 
think  thus,  and  believe  that  which  I  tell  you, 
and  take  my  medicine  for  a  world  diseased! 
What  notional,  unsteady  things  were  these, 
floating  things,  only  on  the  surface  of  this 
muddy  stream  of  life.  They  had  no  other 
foundation  than  the  stream,  and  the  stream 
drowned  them  all,  in  course  of  time.  It 
drowned  all  interpretations  of  itself,  in 
course  of  time. 

In  East  Argent  he  turned  to  the  right,  into 
Muscadine  Street.  On  one  side  of  the  street 
stretched  the  P.  and  N.  freight  yards  by  the 
river,  on  the  other  shabby  and  flimsy  fronts, 
some  of  wood,  some  of  brick,  with  shops  in 
most  of  the  ground  floors,  an  inhabited  story 


The  Brothers  227 

or  two  over  each.  Already  Muscadine 
Street  was  awake.  The  freight  yards  were 
noisy  with  cars  and  hooting  engines.  The 
stream  whistles  of  the  down-river  factories 
began  to  blow. 

The  harsh,  pitiless  iron  clangour  tortured 
him  and  he  hurried  through  a  street  that 
seemed  to  lead  away  into  the  country  back 
from  the  river.  He  stopped  at  a  discarded 
horse  car,  that  was  propped  up  in  an  empty 
lot,  and  bore  the  sign  "  Night  lunches,"  and 
went  up  the  shaky  step,  through  the  narrow 
door.  The  occupant  was  a  grimy-aproned 
man,  asleep  with  his  head  on  the  counter. 
Alcott  drank  a  cup  of  coffee  and  ate  some 
thing,  he  hardly  noticed  what.  It  tasted 
unpleasantly. 

One  corner  succeeded  another  in  the  long 
street.  Then  came  empty  lots,  cornfields, 
clumps  of  woods,  scores  of  trestle  pyramids 
of  the  oil  wells. 

"Lolly!     Lolly!" 

Men  and  their  societies,  and  all  the  struc- 


228  The  Brothers 

tures  they  built,  and  the  ideas  that  governed 
them,  were  monstrous,  implacable,  harsh, 
and  hard,  iron  beating  on  iron  in  freight 
yards  and  factories.  Justice!  What  was 
justice?  One  knew  the  sense  of  injustice.  It 
was  like  a  scald.  It  was  a  clamour  and  cry, 
"  He  has  done  me  wrong,  a  wrong!  "  But 
justice?  An  even  balance?  There  was  no 
such  balance.  An  eye  for  an  eye  and  a  tooth 
for  a  tooth?  It  was  revenge.  There  was 
no  justice  but  perfect  pardon.  You  must 
know  that  uttermost  love  was  justice,  and 
not  one  iota  less  than  that  was  justice. 

Alcott's  old  doctrines,  these.  Doctrines 
only,  "  floating  things  on  muddy  stream." 
They  seemed  to  mean  to  him  now  only,  "  I 
must  have  Lolly !  I  must  have  him !  " 

All  that  Alcott  had  built  up  about  himself 
in  four  years  now  seemed  suddenly  wiped 
out  of  his  desires.  He  wanted  to  take  Allen 
and  go  away.  It  seemed  a  simple  thing,  not 
so  complicated  as  the  Seton  Avenue  As 
sembly,  and  the  Brotherhood  of  Man.  But 


The  Brothers  229 

bars  and  bricks,  metal  and  stone,  and  the 
iron  refusal  of  society,  were  in  the  way  of 
this  simple  thing.  Their  stolid  refusal 
faced  him  as  well  in  the  woods  as  in  the  city. 
The  woods  were  wet  and  cool.  No  sound 
reached  the  centre  of  the  grove  from  with 
out,  except  the  far-off  thudding  of  an  oil 
well.  Shy  wood  birds  flitted  and  twit 
tered.  Fragments  of  twigs  and  bark 
dropped  from  heights  where  the  squirrels 
were  at  their  thriving  enterprises,  and  the 
new  leaves  were  growing. 


CHAPTER  XII 
BlDee  and  Camilla 

ALCOTT  came  back  to  the  city  in  the 
afternoon.  At  four  o'clock  he  was  on 
Lower  Bank  Street,  knocking  at  Henry 
Champney's  door. 

"  Is  Miss  Camilla  Champney  in?  n 

The  startled  maid  stared  at  him  and 
showed  him  into  the  library,  where  Henry 
Champney's  shelves  of  massive  books  cov 
ered  the  lower  walls,  and  over  them  hung 
the  portraits  of  Webster,  Clay,  and  Quincy 
Adams  with  solemn,  shining  foreheads. 

He  walked  up  and  down,  twisting  his 
fingers,  stopping  now  and  then  to  listen  for 
Camilla's  steps.  She  came  soon. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you're  here !  I  want  to 

ask "  She  stopped,  caught  a  quick 

breath,  and  put  her  hand  to  her  throat. 

"What  is  it?" 

230 


Aidee  and  Camilla  231 

Alcott's  face  was  white  and  damp,  and 
his  black  eyes  stared  at  her.  He  stood  very 
still. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"  Do  I  look  like  that?  Do  I  show  what  I 
am,  gone  blind  and  mad ?  Do  I  look  it?  I 
could  only  think  of  this,  of  you — I  must  tell 
someone.  There  must  be  some  way.  Help 
me !  "  He  moved  about  jerkily,  talking  half 
incoherently.  "  He's  been  here  four  years. 
Allen,  you  know!  If  I'd  known,  I  could 
have  handled  him  somehow.  But — he's — 
Hicks  —  he  called  himself  —  Hicks.  He 
killed  Wood.  I  saw  him  last  night,  but  he's 
changed,  but — my  boy,  Lolly !  Four  years 
he's  been  in  Port  Argent — watching  me! 
He  called  himself  Hicks.  Don't  you  see, 
Camilla!  It's  my  boy!  Don't  you  see! 
Wait.  I'll  get  buckled  down.  I  can  tell  you 
better  in  a  moment." 

Camilla  leaned  back  against  Henry 
Champney's  big  desk,  and  stared  with  wide 
grey  eyes.  Alcott  walked  away  breathing 


232  Aidee  and  Camilla 

heavily,  and  returned.  He  sat  down  in  the 
desk  chair  and  dropped  his  head  on  his 
arm. 

"It's  your  brother!" 

"  I  must  save  him !  Don't  you  under 
stand?  No  one  shall  touch  him!  He's 
mine ! "  He  sprang  up,  walked  away,  and 
came  again. 

Camilla  thought  of  many  confused  things. 
The  bluebird's  note  was  gone  from  her 
heart,  but  the  current  of  the  tumult  that  was 
there  ran  in  one  direction.  It  poured  into 
Alcott's  passion  and  point  of  view.  Her 
new  pillar  of  fire  and  cloud,  the  man  with 
the  halo  of  her  own  construction  was  beg 
ging  for  help,  a  demigod  suddenly  become 
human  and  suffering,  stammering,  calling 
himself  blind  and  mad. 

"  Why,  we  must  get  him  out !  "  she  cried. 

She  thought  of  Dick.  Another  instinct 
warned  her  that  he  would  not  understand. 
It  was  a  case  where  Dick  would  be  a  rock 
in  the  way,  instead  of  one  to  anchor  to.  But 


Aidee  and  Camilla  233 

thinking  of  him  served  to  remind  her  of 
what  he  had  said  the  night  before. 

"  Listen !  "  She  went  on.  "  He  must 
get  out.  Listen!  Somebody  told  Dick — 
what  was  it?  Something  about  a  crowbar 
or  pair  of — nonsense!  He  said  a  prisoner 
might  get  out  if  he  had  a  chisel.  Now 
we  must  think  about  it.  Could  he  get 
out?" 

She  sat  down  too.  Alcott  stared  at  her  in 
a  kind  of  dull  confusion. 

"  Now,  this  is  what  I'm  thinking,"  she 
hurried  on.  "  What  is  the  place  like?  " 

"The  place?" 

"  When  do  you  go  to  him  again  ?  " 

"  When  I  leave  here.  Perhaps.  I  hadn't 
thought." 

They  leaned  closer  together  across  the 
desk. 

Miss  Eunice  came  in  that  moment  and 
startled  them.  She  disapproved  of  their 
startled  expression,  he  gave  Alcott  a  gloomy 
greeting  and  went  away. 


234          Aidee  and  Camilla 

"  There's  a  chest  of  tools  in  the  store 
room,"  Camilla  said.  "  We'll  go  up  there." 

They  mounted  to  that  high-perched  room 
above  the  mansards,  whose  windows  looked 
eastward  to  the  river,  whose  walls  were 
ranged  about  with  boxes,  trunks,  chests,  bits 
of  aged  furniture. 

Here  Richard  the  Second  and  Camilla,  the 
little  maid,  used  to  sit  the  long  rainy  after 
noons  at  their  labor.  He  made  bridges, 
houses,  and  ships,  his  artistry  running  no 
further  than  scroll  and  square  patterns, 
while  Camilla  aspired  to  the  human  face 
divine.  Her  soul  was  creative  at  ten  years. 
She  cut  ominous  faces  on  pine  shingles,  sor 
rowful  shapes — tombstone  cherubs  in  execu 
tion,  symbolic  in  intention — and  her  solemn 
exaltation  of  mood  was  commonly  followed 
by  anger  and  tears  because  Dick  would  not 
admire  them. 

It  was  a  room  full  of  memories  for  Camilla. 
Here  and  in  her  father's  library  she  still 
passed  her  happiest  hours.  Here  was  the 


Aidee  and  Camilla  235 

trunk  that  held  her  retired  dolls  and  baby 
relics.  Another  was  full  of  her  mother's 
blue-ribboned  gowns.  Here  was  the  tool 
chest,  close  to  the  window. 

She  flung  it  open,  making  a  great  noise 
and  business. 

"See!    Will  this  do?" 

It  was  a  heavy  carpenter's  chisel  with  a 
scroll  design  on  one  side  of  the  battered 
handle,  and  on  the  other  the  crude  semblance 
or  intention  of  a  woful  face.  "  I  don't 
know  whether  it's  Dick's  or  mine.  We 
both  used  to  make  messes  here."  She  chat 
tered  on,  and  thought  the  while,  "  He  called 
me  Camilla — I  wish — I  wonder  if  he  will 
again." 

He  thrust  it  into  an  inner  pocket,  ripping 
through  the  lining  of  his  coat.  She  closed 
the  lid,  and  turned  about  to  the  low-silled 
window,  clasped  her  hands  about  her  knees, 
and  stared  away  into  the  tree  tops,  flushed 
and  smiling. 

"You  needn't  go  yet?" 


236  Aidee  and  Camilla 


"  It's  three  o'clock." 

"  You'll  come  and  tell  me  to-morrow  ? 
When?" 

Alcott  did  not  seem  to  hear  her. 

"  I'm  sure  I  could  take  care  of  him  now," 
he  said. 

"  But  you'll  remember  that  I  helped !  " 

"  Does  anyone  ever  forget  you?  " 

Both  were  silent,  and  then  he  started  up 
nervously. 

"  It  isn't  done  yet.  Lolly  is  clever.  He 
lived  here  four  years  and  kept  out  of  my 
sight.  But,  afterwards,  granted  he  suc 
ceeds — but  the  law  is  a  great  octopus.  Its 
arms  are  everywhere.  But  he'll  have  me 
with  him.  I  suppose  we  must  go  out  of  the 
country." 

"  You !  Do  you  mean — do  you — you'll 
go  too!" 

"Go!     Could  I  stay?" 

"  Oh !     I  don't  know !     I  don't  know !  " 

She  shivered  and  leaned  against  the 
friendly  old  chest. 


Aidee  and  Camilla  237 

"But  could  I  do  it  without  that? 
How  could  I?  I  couldn't  do  less  than 
that." 

He  came  and  sat  beside  her  again,  clasp 
ing  his  knees  in  the  same  way,  looking 
off  into  the  tree  tops,  talking  slowly  and 
sadly. 

"  To  be  with  him  always,  and  give  up  my 
life  to  that,  and  see  that  he  doesn't  do  any 
more  harm.  That  would  be  the  debt  I 
would  owe  to  the  rest  of  the  world.  You 
see,  I  know  him  so  well.  I  shall  know  how 
to  manage  him  better  than  I  used  to.  I 
used  to  irritate  him.  Do  you  know,  I  think 
he's  better  off  in  places  where  things  are 
rough  and  simple.  He  has  an  odd  mind  or 
temperament,  not  what  people  call  balanced 
or  healthy,  but  it's  hot  and  sensitive;  oh, 
but  loving  and  hating  so  suddenly,  one 
never  knows!  You  understand.  I  don't 
know  how  you  do,  but  you  do  understand, 
somehow,  about  Lolly  and  me.  You're 
wholly  healthy,  too,  but  Lolly  and  I,  we're 


238  Aidee  and  Camilla 

morbid  of  course.  Yes,  we're  morbid.  I 
don't  know  that  there's  any  cure  for  us. 
We'll  smash  up  altogether  by  and  by." 

"When  will  you  go?"  she  asked  only 
just  audibly. 

"  He  ought  to  try  it  to-night.  To-night 
or  to-morrow  night.  He  ought  to  be  away 
on  one  of  the  early  freight  trains,  to  St. 
Louis,  and  meet  me  there.  We  know  our 
bearings  there." 

Camilla  sat  very  still. 

"  I  must  be  going,"  he  said. 

"  Don't  go !  You'll  come  before — 
when?" 

"  To-morrow  we'll  know.  To-morrow 
then." 

After  he  was  gone,  she  lifted  the  window 
and  peered  over  the  mansards  to  watch  him 
going  down  the  street.  The  tree  tops  were 
thick  with  busy  sparrows,  the  railroad  yards 
clamorous,  and  there  was  the  rattle  of  the 
travelling  crane,  and  the  clug-chug  of 
steamers  on  the  river. 


Aidee  and  Camilla  239 

She  drew  back,  and  leaned  against  the  old 
chest,  and  sobbed  with  her  face  against  the 
hard,  worn  edge  of  it. 

"  I  didn't  suppose  it  would  be  like  this," 
she  thought.  "  I  thought  people  were 
happy." 

Meanwhile  Miss  Eunice  sat  below  in  the 
parlour  knitting.  Reunion  came  in  later 
and  found  her  there.  She  said  that  Ca 
milla,  she  thought,  was  upstairs,  and  added 
primly : 

"  I  think  it  will  be  as  well  if  you  talk  with 
me." 

He  smothered  his  surprise. 

"  Why,  of  course,  Miss  Eunice !  " 

"  I  think  you  need  advice." 

He  sat  down  beside  her,  and  felt 
humble. 

"That's  just  what  I  need.  But,  Miss 
Eunice,  do  you  like  me  well  enough  to  give 
it?" 

"  I  like  you  more  than  some  people." 

'"  You  might  do  better  than  that." 


240          Aidee  and  Camilla 

"  I  like  you  well  enough  to  give  it,"  she 
admitted. 

Tick,  tick,  tick,  continued  the  knitting 
needles. 

"  I'm  stumped,  you  know,  about  Camilla," 
Dick  went  on  bluntly.  "  I  don't  get  ahead. 
She  has  changed  lately.  Hasn't  she 
changed?" 

"  She  has  changed." 

"  Well,  then,  she  has !    I  thought  so." 

The  knitting  needles  ticked  on,  and 
both  Dick  and  Miss  Eunice  studied  their 
vibrating  points,  crisscrossing,  clicking 
dry  comments  over  the  mystery  of  the 
web. 

"  It  is  my  constant  prayer  that  Camilla 
may  be  happy,"  said  Miss  Eunice  at  last. 
"  I  have  felt — I  have  examined  the  feeling 
with  great  care — I  have  felt,  that,  if  she  saw 
her  happiness  in  your  happiness,  it  would  be 
wise  to  believe  her  instinct  had  guided  her 
well.  My  brother's  thoughts,  his  hopes,  are 
all  in  Camilla.  He  could  not  live  without 


Aidee  and  Camilla  241 

her.  He  depends  upon  her  to  such  an 
extent, — as  you  know,  of  course." 

"  Of  course,  Miss  Eunice." 

"  I  have  grieved  that  she  seemed  so  way 
ward.  I  have  wished  to  see  this  anxious 
question  settled.  You  have  been  almost  of 
the  family  since  she  was  a  child,  and  if  she 
saw  her  happiness  in — in  you,  I  should  feel 
quite  contented,  quite  secure — of  her  finding 
it  there,  and  of  my  brother's  satisfaction,  in 
the  end.  He  must  not  be  separated  from 
her.  He  could  not — I  think  he  could  not 
outlive  it.  And  in  this  way  I  should 
feel  secure  that — that  you  would  under 
stand." 

"  I  hope  I  should  deserve  your  tribute. 
I'm  more  than  glad  to  have  it." 

"  Perhaps  this  long  intimacy,  which 
makes  me  feel  secure,  is,  at  the  same  time, 
the  trouble  with  her  ?  " 

"  But  why,  Miss  Eunice?  I  don't  under 
stand  that.  It  has  struck  me  so.  And  yet  I 
love  Camilla  the  more  for  all  I  know  of  her, 


242          Aidee  and  Camilla 

and  the  better  for  the  time.  How  can  it  be 
so  different  with  her  ?  " 

"That  is  true.  I  don't  doubt  it, 
Richard." 

"  Well,  then,  is  it  because  I  don't  wear 
well?" 

"  No.  It  is  true,  I  think,  that  we  don't 
understand  this  difference  always — per 
haps,  not  often.  But  I  think," — knitting  a 
trifle  more  slowly,  speaking  with  a  shade  of 
embarrassment — "  I  think,  with  women,  it 
must  be  strange  in  order  to  be  at  all.  It 
must  not  be  customary.  It  must  always  be 
strange." 

Hennion  looked  puzzled  and  frown 
ing. 

"  Please  go  on." 

"  Lately  then,  very  lately,  I  have  grown 
more  anxious  still,  seeing  an  influence  creep 
ing  into  her  life,  against  which  I  could  not 
openly  object,  and  which  yet  gave  me  great 
uneasiness.  It — he  was  here  an  hour  ago. 
I  should  not  perhaps  have  spoken  in  this 


Aidee  and  Camilla  243 

way,  but  I  thought  there  was  something 
unusual  between  them,  some  secrecy  or  con 
fusion.  I  was  distressed.  I  feared  some 
thing  might  have  occurred  already.  I  wished 
to  take  some  step.  You  know  to  whom  I 
refer?" 

"  I  think  so." 

"  A  gentleman,  in  appearance  at  least. 
One  does  not  know  anything  about  his  past. 
He  is  admired  by  some,  by  many,  and  dis 
liked  or  distrusted  by  others.  He  has  great 
gifts,  as  my  brother  thinks.  But  he  thinks 
him  also  '  heady/  '  fantastic/  He  has 
used  these  words.  My  brother  thinks  that 
this  society  called  '  The  Assembly '  is  a 
mere  fashion  in  Port  Argent,  depending  for 
financial  support,  even  now,  on  Mr.  Secor, 
and  he  thinks  this  gentleman,  whom  I  am 
describing,  is  not  likely  to  continue  to  be 
successful  in  our  society,  in  Port  Argent, 
but  more  likely  to  have  a  chequered  career, 
probably  unfortunate,  unhappy.  My  brother 
regards — he  calls  him — '  a  spasmodic  phe- 


244  Aidee  and  Camilla 

nomenon.'  My  own  disapproval  goes  further 
than  my  brother's  in  this  respect.  Yet  he 
does  not  approve  of  this  influence  on 
Camilla.  It  causes  him  uneasiness.  I  have 
not  thought  wise  to  speak  to  her  about  it,  for 
I  am  afraid  of — of  some  mistake,  but  I 
think  my  brother  has  spoken,  has  said  some 
thing.  This — this  person  arouses  my  dis 
trust,  my  dislike.  I  look  at  this  subject  with 
great  distress." 

Tick,  tick,  tick,  the  knitting  needles,  and 
their  prim,  dry  comment. 
Hennion  said  gravely: 
"  I  have  nothing  to  say  about  the  gentle 
man  you've  been  speaking  of.     I  will  win 
Camilla   if   I    can,    but    I've   come   to   the 
point    of    confessing    that    I    don't    know 
how." 

Tick,  tick,  the  not  uneloquent  knitting 
needles. 

"Will  you  tell  me,  Miss  Eunice?  You 
said  something  about  love  as  it  comes  to 
women,  as  it  seems  to  them.  I  had  never 


Aidee  and  Camilla  245 

thought  about  it.  about  that  side  of  it,  from 
that  side." 

"  I  dare  say  not." 

Tick,  tick,  tick. 

"  You  said  it  must  always  be  strange.  I 
suppose,  that  is,  it's  like  a  discovery,  as  if 
nobody  ever  made  it  before.  Well,  but, 
Miss  Eunice,  they  never  did  make  it  before, 
not  that  one!" 

"Oh,  indeed!" 

"  Don't  you  think  I'm  coming  on  ?  " 

"  You  are  progressing." 

Miss  Eunice's  lips  were  compressed  a  little 
grimly,  but  there  was  a  red  spot  in  either 
cheek. 

"  I  ought  to  act  as  if  I  didn't  see  how 
she  was  possible,  ought  I  ?  " 

"  You  are  progressing." 

"  Whether  I  did  see,  or  didn't?  " 

"  Of  course!  "  Miss  Eunice  was  almost 
snappish. 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  I  do  see." 

"  You'd  better  not." 


246          Aidee  and  Camilla 

Hennion  went  away  without  seeing 
Camilla.  Going  up  Bank  Street  he  thought 
of  Camilla.  At  the  corner  of  Franklin 
Street  he  thought  of  Miss  Eunice. 

"  There's  another  one  I  was  off  about.  I 
don't  see  how  she's  possible,  either." 


CHAPTER  XIII 
fn  wbicb  1>fcfc0  is 

ALLEN  AIDEE  lay  on  his  back  across 
the  bed  in  his  whitewashed  cell,  and 
smoked,  swinging  one  foot  swiftly,  inces 
santly,  like  a  pendulum,  arguing  with  Sol 
Sweeney,  and  gesticulating  with  loose  fin 
gers.  The  bed  was  a  wooden  cot  with  a 
mattress  on  it. 

Sweeney  sat  at  the  table  under  the  gas  jet, 
and  smoked  too.  He  had  a  large  friendly 
acquaintance  with  jailbirds,  and  his  placid 
philosophy  was  composed  out  of  his  knowl 
edge  of  them. 

"  I  seen  folks  like  you,  Hicks,"  he  said, 
"  two  or  three.  Trouble  is  you  gets  hold  of 
one  end  of  a  string.  Any  old  string  '11  do. 
All  the  same  to  you.  '  Hullo!'  you  says, 
'this  is  a  valyble  string.  Fact,  there  ain't 
any  other  string,  not  any  other  real  string. 
247 


248       In  which  Hicks  is  Busy 

This  the  only  genwine.  Follow  it,  and  you 
gets  wherever  you  like.  It's  that  kind  of  a 
string,'  says  you.  '  God  A'mighty,  what  a 
string ! '  says  you.  Then  you  rolls  your 
self  up  in  it,  and  there  you  are!  Ball 
up!  Ain't  no  more  use!  For  you  take  a 
solid  man  like  me,  and  he  talks  to  you  and 
he  shows  you  reason,  but  you  don't  see  it. 
Why  ?  'Cause  you're  balled  up  in  the  string, 
that's  why." 

Allen  snapped  out  his  answer. 
"  I'll  tell  you  the  trouble  with  you." 
"  Ain't  any  trouble  with  me." 
"  Ain't !     Well,  I  know  this,  I  can  stand 
your  kind  about  half  an  hour  at  a  stretch. 
Give   me   two   hours   of   you — damn!     I'd 
drink  rat  poison  to  get  cooled  down." 

"  That's  the  trouble  with  you,"  said  the 
complacent  jailor.  "  Ain't  me." 

"Trouble!  No!  You  ain't  equal  to 
that.  You  ain't  capable  of  that!  You've 
got  no  more  consistency  or  organisation 
than  a  barrel  of  oil.  You're  all  fat  and  hair. 


In  which  Hicks  is  Busy      249 

Solid!  So's  a  brick  solid.  Damn!  You're 
solid,  but  are  you  alive?  You'll  be  dead 
before  anybody  sees  the  difference.  Ain't 
any  real  difference !  " 

Sweeney  puffed  his  pipe  contentedly,  but 
thoughtfully,  and  shook  his  heavy  beard. 

"  Well,  well !  But  now,  I'll  say  this  for 
you,  Hicks.  You're  an  entertainin'  man. 
I'll  say  that  to  anybody  that  asks.  I'll  say, 
'  Hicks  is  a  man  that's  got  language,  if  I 
know  what's  what.' ' 

The  jailor  rose.  Allen  swung  his  foot 
swiftly. 

"  I  wish  you'd  do  something  for  me, 
Sweeney." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Let  me  have  the  gas  at  night.  I  don't 
sleep  good.  If  I  had  the  gas  I  could  get  up 
and  read.  You  heavy  men,  you  sleep  all 
night.  You  don't  know  what  it  is." 

"  Why,  I'll  see,  Hicks.  I'll  ask  about  that 
to-morrow." 

"Oh,  let  me  have  it  to-night!"  he  pleaded. 


250      In  which  Hicks  is  Busy 

"  I  ain't  going  to  sleep  good  to-night.  I 
can  feel  it.  It  '11  be  eternity  before  morning. 
I  swear  I'll  be  dead  before  morning.  I'll 
turn  it  low." 

"  Well — I  don't  see  no  harm  in  that.  It 
ain't  in  me  to  rough  a  man." 

He  went  out,  locking  the  door  noisily  be 
hind  him. 

Allan  lay  still.  His  foot  swung  steadily, 
but  more  slowly.  After  a  time  Sweeney 
came  down  the  corridor,  making  his  ten 
o'clock  round.  He  went  to  the  end,  and 
back  again,  and  then  downstairs.  The  cor 
ridor  was  quiet. 

Half  an  hour  later  Allen  got  up  and  filled 
his  pipe,  lit  it  at  the  gas  jet,  turned  the  jet 
low,  and  lay  down  again  across  his  mat 
tress.  He  smoked  with  quick,  sharp  puffs, 
but  not  fast.  He  swung  his  foot  slowly, 
and  stared  at  a  point  on  the  blank  wall  over 
the  gas  jet.  Eleven  o'clock  struck. 

After  the  theatre  crowds  were  gone  past, 
the  noise  of  the  city  grew  less.  There  were 


In  which  Hicks  is  Busy      251 

fewer  cars,  and  only  now  and  then  foot 
steps  on  the  neighbouring  pavement. 
Twelve  o'clock  struck. 

He  got  up  again,  slipped  off  his  shoes,  and 
went  to  his  window. 

A  maple  tree  grew  directly  in  front,  some 
twenty  feet  away.  Its  leaves  were  thick, 
but  he  could  see  the  glitter  of  the  electric 
light  through  them.  The  sidewalk  was 
high  as  the  lower  windows  of  the  jail,  for 
the  Court  House  Square  was  on  sunken 
land.  The  black  shadow  of  the  maple 
covered  the  front  of  the  jail  down  to  the 
ground. 

The  grating  of  the  window  had  its  bars 
set  at  both  sides,  and  at  the  top  and  bottom. 
There  were  two  rows  of  bricks  from  the  bars 
to  the  inner  edge  of  the  window,  and  the 
wooden  framework  that  held  the  panes  of 
glass  was  set  close  to  the  grating.  The  out 
side  of  the  sill  was  stone. 

Allen  went  back  and  lifted  his  mattress. 
There  was  a  rent  in  the  seam  of  the  lower 


252       In  which  Hicks  is  Busy 

edge.  He  thrust  in  his  hand,  drew  out  a 
black  cloth  cap  and  put  it  on  his  head.  Then 
he  drew  out  a  heavy  chisel  with  a  battered 
wooden  handle,  and  returned  to  the  win 
dow. 

The  woodwork  came  away,  cracking 
slightly  as  the  nails  drew  out.  He  leaned 
the  boards  and  frame  carefully  against  the 
wall.  He  tried  one  crack  after  another 
between  the  bricks  at  the  bottom  of  the 
window,  pushing  and  pressing.  Presently 
one  became  loose,  then  another.  He  laid 
them  one  by  one  in  a  neat  row  on  the  floor. 

The  work  at  the  sides  and  top  was  slower, 
because  it  was  difficult  to  get  a  purchase,  and 
to  prevent  fragments  from  falling.  He 
dug  till  he  got  the  purchase,  and  then  held 
the  brick  up  with  one  hand  and  pried  with 
the  other.  Once  a  fragment  of  cement  fell 
with  a  smart  slap  on  the  sill.  He  got  down 
suddenly  and  sat  on  the  floor,  and  listened, 
wiping  his  wet  hands  and  forehead  with  his 
cap.  Either  Sweeney  or  his  assistant  was 


In  which  Hicks  is  Busy      253 

always  around  at  night,  and  would  have 
heard,  if  he  had  happened  to  be  in  the  upper 
corridor. 

He  carried  the  mattress  to  the  window 
and  laid  it  underneath  to  catch  and  deaden 
the  noise,  if  anything  more  fell. 

It  was  half-past  one  by  the  striking  of  the 
city  clocks  when  he  finished  stripping  off 
the  first  thickness  of  bricks.  If  the  ends 
of  the  bars  were  buried  more  than  two  layers 
downward,  there  would  not  be  time  to  strip 
them  all  before  daylight.  He  forced  up 
those  on  the  sill,  which  were  opposite  one  of 
the  bars,  and  felt  with  his  ringers.  He  felt 
the  end  of  the  bar,  and  knew  that  at  that 
rate  he  would  be  out  by  three  o'clock. 

He  worked  on.  His  black  hair  hung  wet 
against  his  forehead.  He  watched  intensely 
for  the  loosened  fragments  of  cement.  He 
grew  more  skilful,  more  noiseless.  The 
loudest  sound  in  the  cell  was  his  own  breath 
ing,  and  except  for  that,  only  little  rasps 
and  clicks. 


254      I*1  which  Hicks  is  Busy 


When  the  last  brick  was  out  and  laid  in 
its  place,  he  moved  the  grating,  which  came 
out  easily  with  a  little  scraping  noise.  It 
was  heavy,  and  he  rested  a  corner  of  it  on 
the  mattress,  so  that  the  ends  of  the  bars 
caught  in  the  sides  of  the  window.  Then  he 
brought  his  blanket.  In  lifting  the  blanket 
he  noticed  the  short  iron  braces  on  the 
cot  bed.  They  suggested  an  idea.  He 
took  out  the  screws  of  one  of  them  with 
the  chisel,  carried  it  to  the  window,  and 
scratched  it  on  the  bricks  until  its  black 
enamel  was  rubbed  off  one  end;  then  laid  it 
on  the  floor.  Whether  possible  to  do  so  or 
not,  people  would  think  he  must  have 
loosened  the  bricks  with  the  brace.  He 
wasn't  going  to  mess  "  old  Al  "  again,  he 
thought,  no,  nor  meet  him  in  St.  Louis  for 
that  matter,  nor  be  led  around  the  rest  of 
his  life  by  a  string. 

"  Not  me,   like  a  damn  squealing  little 

Pig." 

He  slit  one  end  of  the  blanket  into  strips 


In  which  Hicks  is  Busy      255 

with  his  chisel,  tied  each  strip  to  the  bars  of 
the  grating  and  dropped  the  other  end  of  the 
blanket  through  the  window.  Leaning  out, 
he  looked  down  and  saw  that  it  reached  the 
grating  of  the  window  below.  He  put  his 
shoes  into  his  side  coat  pockets,  the  chisel 
into  an  inner  coat  pocket,  and  felt  in  his 
vest  for  the  money  Alcott  had  left  him. 
He  pulled  his  cap  on  hard,  turned  off 
the  gas  jet,  and  climbed  over  the  grat 
ing. 

He  gripped  with  both  hands  the  corner 
of  it  which  projected  into  the  window,  oppo 
site  the  corner  which  rested  on  the  mattress 
within  the  cell,  and  let  himself  down  till  his 
feet  caught  on  the  grating  of  the  window 
below,  slipping  his  hands  alternately  along 
the  edges  of  the  blanket,  and  so  down  step 
by  step,  feeling  for  the  bars  with  his  feet. 
When  his  feet  reached  the  stone  sill  below  he 
felt  the  top  bars  under  his  hands.  He 
stopped  to  catch  the  lower  bars  in  order  to 
lower  himself  to  the  ground,  and  his  face 


256      In  which  Hicks  is  Busy 

came  opposite  the  upper  half  of  a  partly 
dropped  window.  The  lower  half  of  it  was 
curtained.  A  gas  jet  burned  inside. 

The  room  was  like  the  cell  overhead, 
whitewashed,  but  larger  and  furnished  with 
ordinary  bedroom  furniture.  The  gas  jet 
was  fixed  in  the  same  place  as  in  his  own 
cell.  The  light  fell  flickering  across  the  wide 
bed.  A  man  lay  there  asleep  on  his  back, 
his  thick  beard  thrust  up  and  in  the  air,  his 
feet  toward  the  window,  where  Allen  clung 
like  a  spider.  The  sleeper  was  Sweeney. 
Allen  slipped  to  the  ground,  sat  down,  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  shiv 
ered.  He  had  not  known  that  Sweeney  slept 
underneath  him. 

He  pulled  on  his  shoes,  stood  up,  and  went 
out  under  the  maple  tree  to  the  sidewalk. 
He  was  glad  he  had  not  known  that  Sweeney 
slept  underneath  him.  The  sky  was  nearly 
covered  by  clouds,  a  few  sparkling  spaces 
here  and  there. 

The  blanket  hung  from  the  dismantled 


In  which  Hicks  is  Busy      257 

upper  window,  and  flapped  in  the  night  wind 
against  the  wall. 

As  he  climbed  the  bank  to  the  sidewalk 
the  clock  in  the  church  tower  across  the 
street  struck  three.  It  frightened  him.  It 
seemed  too  spectacular  a  place  to  be  in,  there 
under  the  great  arc  light  that  poured  its 
glare  down  upon  him,  while  the  bells  above 
the  light  were  pealing,  shouting  in  their 
high  tower,  clamouring  alarm  over  the 
Court  House  Square,  over  the  little  old  jail, 
the  grim,  small,  dingy  jail,  low  down  in  the 
sunken  land,  jail  of  the  one  migrated  win 
dow  and  flapping  blanket,  jail  of  the  sleep 
ing  Sweeney. 

He  hurried  along  the  sidewalk  toward 
Maple  Street.  At  the  corner  of  the  square 
was  a  drug  store  with  gas  jets  flaring  behind 
two  glass  globes — one  red,  the  other  blue — 
the  two  dragonish  eyes  of  the  monstrous  long 
shape  of  the  block  looming  behind  and  over 
them.  All  the  blocks  around  seemed  un 
naturally  huge.  They  crowded  close  to  the 


258      In  which  Hicks  is  Busy 

street,  and  stared  down  at  him  with  their 
ghastly  blank  windows — nervous,  startled 
fronts  of  buildings  that  shivered  and  echoed 
to  the  sound  of  his  steps.  There  were  no 
other  sounds  now  but  a  small  whispering 
wind,  and  his  own  steps  and  their  pursuing 
echoes.  The  red  and  blue  globes  in  the  cor 
ner  drug  store  glared  intolerably.  As  he 
passed  they  began  suddenly  to  flow  and 
whirl  all  over  their  glassy  slopes. 

He  turned  to  the  right,  past  the  great  brick 
Ward  School  building,  out  of  Easter  Street 
into  Buckeye  Street,  which  was  only  an  un- 
paved  road ;  and  here  his  feet  made  no  noise 
in  the  dust ;  neither  were  there  any  lights ;  so 
that  he  went  softly  in  the  darkness.  A  row 
of  little  wooden  shanties  were  on  the  right, 
and  on  the  left  the  mass  of  the  Ward  School 
building.  Still  higher,  the  roof  of  a  steeple- 
less  church,  whose  apse  overhung  the  empty 
lot  behind  the  school,  rose  up,  splitting  the 
sky  with  its  black  wedge.  In  front  of  him 
were  the  buildings  of  the  Beck  Carriage  Fac- 


In  which  Hicks  is  Busy      259 

tory,  bigger  than  church  and  school  to 
gether.  The  vacant  spaces  between  them, 
these  buildings  and  shanties,  were  by  day 
overflowed  with  light,  overrun  by  school 
children  and  factory  hands,  over-roared  by 
the  tumult  of  the  nearby  thoroughfares  of 
Bank  and  Maple  Streets.  By  night  they 
were  the  darkest  and  stillest  places  in  Port 
Argent.  One  man  might  pass  another, 
walking  in  the  thick  dust  of  the  cart  road 
and  hardly  be  aware  of  him.  It  was  too 
dark  to  see  the  rickety  fence  about  the 
schoolyard,  or  make  out  the  small  sickly 
maples. 

He  came  to  a  sidewalk  with  a  curb,  and 
saw  up  the  hill  to  the  left  the  dim  glow  from 
the  lights  of  Maple  Street,  and  went  toward 
them.  At  the  corner  of  Maple  Street  he 
stopped  and  thrust  his  head  cautiously 
around  the  angle  of  the  building. 

A  block  below,  a  policeman  stood  in  the 
glare  of  the  arc  light,  swinging  his  club 
slowly  by  its  cord,  and  looking  around  for 


260      In  which  Hicks  is  Busy 

objects  of  interest,  not  apparently  finding 
anything  of  the  kind.  Allen  drew  back  his 
head. 

It  might  be  better  to  go  back  and  cross 
Bank  Street  at  another  point  and  so  come 
to  the  bridge  along  the  docks  by  the  river. 
It  would  take  some  time.  He  would  have 
to  pass  an  electric  light  in  any  case. 

Footsteps  were  approaching  on  Maple 
Street  from  the  other  direction.  Presently 
four  men  appeared  on  the  other  corner  and 
crossed  to  the  corner  where  he  stood  flat 
tened  against  the  wall,  and  in  the  shadow. 
All  walked  unsteadily,  with  elaborate  care. 
Two  of  them  maintained  a  third  between 
them.  The  fourth  followed  a  few  paces  in 
the  rear. 

As  they  passed,  Allen  pulled  his  cap  over 
his  eyes,  and  dropped  in  behind  them,  and 
so  they  approached  Bank  Street,  and  he  drew 
close  to  the  three  in  front. 

"Hullo!"  said  the  policeman  calmly; 
"jagged?" 


In  which  Hicks  is  Busy      261 

"  Say !  "  exclaimed  the  maintainer  on  the 
left,  stopping;  "  tha's  mistake.  Smooth  as 
silk.  Ain't  it?" 

"  You're  out  late,  anyhow,"  said  the  po 
liceman. 

"  It's  a  weddin'.  Ain't  it?  Wa'n't  us. 
'Nother  feller  did  it." 

"  Well,  get  along,  then." 

"  All  ri' !    All  ri' !  " 

He  watched  the  five  men  as  far  as  the 
next  electric  light,  and  then  dropped  them 
as  objects  of  interest. 

"  Hoi'  on !  "  exclaimed  the  man  walking 
beside  Allen,  turning  suddenly  upon  him. 
"  That  ain't  right.  There's  five  of  us.  Two, 
three,  four,  five.  Bet  your  life!  That  ain't 
right." 

They  all  stopped  and  looked  at  Allen.  He 
started  and  his  breath  came  harsh  in  his 
throat. 

"  'Nother  weddin'  ?  "  said  the  middleman 
thickly.  "  Wa'n't  him.  'Nother  feller  did  it. 
Youdidn',  did  you?" 


262      In  which  Hicks  is  Busy 

Allen  shook  his  head  "  No." 

"  Tha's  so!  Well,  tha's  right.  'Sh  good 
thing.  If  'nother  feller  does  it,  'sh  good 
thing." 

They  shambled  on  amiably  across  the 
drawbridge.  Allen  fell  behind,  stopped,  and 
leaned  against  the  guard  rail. 

In  a  few  moments  he  could  hear  their 
footsteps  no  more,  but  he  could  hear  the 
mutter  of  the  river  against  the  stone  piers. 
Leaning  over  the  rail,  he  could  see  here  and 
there  a  dull  glint,  though  the  night  was 
dark;  and  across  the  wide  spaces  over  the 
river  he  could  see  the  buildings  on  each  side, 
low,  heavy  masses,  only  saved  from  the 
smothering  night  and  made  sullenly  visible 
by  the  general  glow  of  the  street  lamps  be 
yond  them.  There  a  few  red  lights  along 
shore,  some  in  the  freight  yards,  some  be 
longing  to  anchored  or  moored  vessels,  small 
sail-boats,  and  long  black  lumber  and  coal 
barges  from  the  northern  lakes.  He  could 
remember  looking  down  at  other  times  in  the 


In  which  Hicks  is  Busy      263 

night  at  the  dull  glint  of  water,  and  being 
shaken  as  now  by  the  jar  of  fighting  things 
in  his  own  mind,  angry  things  fighting  furi 
ously.  At  those  times  it  seemed  as  if  some 
cord  within  him  were  strained  almost  to 
snapping,  but  always  some  passing  excite 
ment,  some  new  glittering  idea,  something 
to  happen  on  the  morrow,  had  drawn  him 
away.  But  those  moments  of  despair  were 
associated  mainly  with  the  glinting  and 
mutter  of  dusky  water.  "  I  been  a  fool,"  he 
muttered,  and  a  little  later,  "What's  the 
use !  " 

He  decided  to  go  to  the  shoe-shop  and 
change  his  clothes,  shave  his  beard,  and  pick 
up  a  few  things,  and  then  hide  himself  on 
some  outgoing  freight  train,  the  other  side 
of  Muscadine  Street,  before  the  morning 
came.  The  morning  could  not  be  far  off 
now.  Shays  would  keep  quiet,  maybe, 
for  a  while.  He  would  take  Shays' 
razor. 

He  roused  himself  and  moved  on.    He  be- 


264      In  which  Hicks  is  Bnsy 

gan  to  have  glimpses  of  schemes,  tricks,  and 
plans.  There  were  little  spots  of  light  in  his 
brain,  which  for  a  while  had  seemed  numb, 
dull,  and  unstirring.  But  he  carried  away 
with  him  the  impression  of  the  glints  of  the 
gloomy  river  and  the  mutter  of  its  hurry 
ing. 

His  feet  dragged  with  his  weariness.  He 
turned  into  Muscadine  Street  and  crept 
along  the  sidewalk  on  the  right. 

Suddenly  a  switch  engine  in  the  freight 
yards  glared  him  in  the  face  with  its  one 
blinding  eye,  yelled  and  hissed  through  its 
steam  whistle,  and  came  charging  toward 
him.  He  leaped  aside  and  fell  into  a  door 
way,  and  lay  there  crouching.  Then  he  sat 
up  and  whimpered,  "  I  ain't  fit.  I'm  all  gone 
away.  I  ain't  fit." 

He  rubbed  his  face  and  hands,  peered 
around  the  corner  to  see  the  harmless  engine 
withdrawing  in  the  distance,  then  got  up  and 
crossed  the  street.  The  nearness  of  the  fa 
miliar  shop  windows,  as  he  passed  them  one 


In  which  Hicks  is  Busy      265 

after  another,  comforted  him  not  a  little. 
On  the  next  corner  was  the  grocer's,  the 
butcher's  shop  this  side  of  it,  and  the  shoe 
maker's  shop  was  over  the  rear  of  the  gro 
cery.  The  mingled  butcher-shop  and  gro 
cery  smell  pervaded  the  corner,  comforting, 
too,  with  its  associations. 

He  turned  the  corner  and  climbed  slowly 
the  outside  wooden  stairway,  with  the  sign 
board  at  the  top,  "  James  Shays,"  and  lean 
ing  over  the  railing,  he  saw  a  faint  light  in 
the  windows  of  the  shop.  He  entered  the 
hall,  turned  the  knob  of  the  door  softly, 
opened  the  door  part  way,  and  peered 
in. 

The  table  stood  in  its  ordinary  central 
place,  on  it  were  a  bottle,  a  tin  cup,  and  a 
small  lit  lamp  with  a  smoky  chimney.  The 
work  bench  was  unchanged  in  place.  The 
door  of  the  inner  room  beyond  stood  open, 
but  that  room  was  dark.  On  the  pile  of 
hides  in  the  corner  some  clothes,  taken  from 
the  hooks  overhead,  had  been  thrown,  and 


266      In  which  Hicks  is  Busy 

on  the  clothes  lay  Coglan,  face  downward 
and  asleep. 

Allen  thought,  "  He's  sleeping  on  my 
clothes,"  and  stepped  in,  closing  the  door 
softly  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

1fn  wbicb  Dfcfcs  Comes  to  Dis  IRcst 

HE  stood  a  moment  with  his  hands 
against  the  closed  door  behind  him, 
listening  to  Coglan's  heavy  breathing. 
Then  he  crossed  noiselessly  to  the  table,  took 
the  lamp  and  went  through  to  the  inner 
room. 

There  were  two  cot  beds  in  it.  Shays  lay 
asleep  on  one  in  all  his  clothes,  except  his 
shoes.  The  other  bed  was  broken  down,  a 
wreck  on  the  floor.  Evidently  Coglan  had 
been  using  it,  and  it  was  not  built  for  slum- 
berers  of  his  weight,  so  he  had  gone  back 
to  the  hides  that  had  often  furnished  him 
with  a  bed  before. 

Shays  turned  his  face  away  from  the  light 
and  raised  one  limp  hand  in  half-conscious 
protest.     He  opened  his  eyes  and  blinked 
stupidly.    Then  he  sat  up. 
267 


268     Hicks  Comes  to  His  Rest 

"  Don't  make  a  noise,  Jimmy,"  said  Allen. 
"  I'm  going  pretty  soon." 

"G-goin' — wha'  for  ?"  stammered  Shays. 
"Wha's  that  for?" 

"  I've  broke  jail.  I'm  going  to  change 
clothes  and  shave,  then  I'll  light  out.  You 
won't  see  me  again,  Jimmy." 

He  sat  down  on  the  side  of  the  bed  and 
rocked  to  and  fro,  twisting  his  fingers. 

"  You're  decent,  Jimmy.  When  they  get 
to  posting  notices  and  rewards,  you  see, 
you  don't  do  a  thing.  Nor  you  don't  wake 
Coglan.  He's  a  damn  hound.  See  ?  " 

Shays  shook  his  head,  indicating  either 
a  promise  or  his  general  confusion  and 
despondency. 

"Wha'  for,  Hicksy?" 

Allen  was  silent  a  moment. 

"Jim-jams,  Jimmy,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  You'll  die  of  those  all  right,  and  Coglan 
will  squat  on  you.  You  ain't  bright,  but 
you've  been  white  to  me." 

"Tha's    right!      Tom    don't    like    you. 


Hicks  Comes  to  His  Rest     269 

Hicksy,  tha's  right,"  whispered  Shays  with 
sudden  trembling.  "  Maybe  he'd  — 'sh !  We 
won't  wake  him,  Hicksy.  Wha'  for  ?  " 

"  He's  sleeping  on  my  clothes,  so  I'll  take 
yours.  Get  me  your  razor." 

"Wha' for?  Wha' s  that  for?  All  right! 
I  ain't  going  to  wake  Tom." 

He  stepped  unsteadily  on  a  shoe  that  lay 
sidewise,  stumbled,  and  fell  noisily  on  the 
floor. 

There  he  lay  a  moment,  and  then  scram 
bled  back  to  his  feet,  shaking  and  grumbling. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  Coglan  cried,  now 
awake  in  the  shop. 

"  Nothin',  Tommy !  I'm  gettin'  back, 
Tommy!" 

"  What  you  doin'  with  thot  light?  " 

"  Nothin',  Tommy." 

Allen  stood  still.  When  Coglan  came 
stamping  unevenly  to  the  door,  he  only 
made  a  quick  shift  of  the  lamp  to  his  left 
hand,  and  thrust  the  other  inside  his  coat 
till  he  felt  the  wooden  handle  of  the  chisel. 


2/0 


Hicks  Comes  to  His  Rest 


"  Oi !  "  said  Coglan. 

His  eyes  seemed  more  prominent  than 
ever,  his  face  and  neck  heavier  with  the 
drink  and  sleep  than  was  even  natural. 
Allen  looked  at  him  with  narrowed  eyes. 

"  He's  broke  out,"  Shays  said,  feebly  dep 
recating.  "  He's  goin'  off,"  and  sat  on  the 
bed  to  pull  on  his  shoes. 

"  Is  he  thot !  "  said  Coglan. 

Coglan  turned  back  slowly  into  the  shop. 
Shays  shuffled  after.  Allen  followed,  too, 
with  the  lamp  and  said  nothing,  but  put  the 
lamp  on  the  table.  Coglan  sat  down,  drank 
from  the  black  bottle,  and  wiped  his  mouth. 
The  first  dim  light  of  the  morning  was  in 
the  windows. 

"  I'll  be  getting  along,  Jimmy,"  said 
Allen.  "  I'll  take  your  razor." 

Coglan  wiped  his  mouth  again. 

"  An'  ye'd  be  goin'  widout  takin'  advice 
of  a  sinsible  mon,  Hicksy,  an'  a  friend  in 
need !  Sure,  sure !  Didn't  I  say  ye  weren't 
a  wise  mon?  Nor  Jimmy  here,  he  ain't  a 


Hicks  Comes  to  His  Rest     271 

wise  mon.  An'  ain't  I  proved  it?  Ain't  it 
so?  Would  ye  be  jailed  if  ye  was  a  wise 
mon  ?  No !  Here  ye  are  again,  an'  ye'd  be 
runnin'  away  this  time  of  the  mornin',  an*  be 
took  by  a  polaceman  on  the  first  corner.  I 
do  laugh  an'  I  do  wape  over  ye,  Hicksy.  I 
do  laugh  an  wape.  An'  all  because  ye  won't 
take  advice." 

"What's  your  advice?" 

Coglan  moved  uneasily  and  cleared  his 
throat.  "  Tis  this,  for  ye're  rasonable 
now,  sure !  Ye'll  hide  in  the  back  room  a 
day  or  two.  Quiet,  aisy,  safe!  Jimmy  an' 
me  to  watch.  An'  what  happens  to  ye  ?  Ye 
gets  away  some  night  wid  the  night  before 
ye." 

He  lowered  his  voice  and  gestured  with 
closed  fist. 

"  Ye'll  lie  under  Jimmy's  bed.  The  po 
laceman  comes.  '  Hicks ! '  says  Jimmy, 
'  we  ain't  seen  Hicks.'  '  Hicks ! '  says  I, 
4  Hicks  be  dommed !  If  he's  broke  jail  he's 
left  for  Chiney  maybe.'  I  ask  ye,  do  they 


272     Hicks  Comes  to  His  Rest 

look  under  Jimmy's  bed?  No!  What  do 
they  do?  Nothin'!" 

Allen  drew  a  step  back. 

"  You're  right  about  one  thing,"  he  said. 
"  That  reward  would  be  easy  picking  for 
you." 

"What's  thot?" 

"  I  ain't  a  wise  man.  I  know  it.  But  I 
know  you.  That's  what  it  is.  I'm  going 
now." 

"Ye'renot!" 

"  Hicksy !  "  cried  Shays  feebly.  "  Tom, 
don't  ye  do  it !  " 

Coglan  plunged  around  the  table  and 
grasped  at  Allen's  throat,  at  Allen's  hand, 
which  had  shot  behind  his  head,  gripping  the 
heavy  chisel.  Allen  dodged  him,  and  struck, 
and  jumped  after  as  Coglan  staggered,  and 
struck  again.  The  corner  of  the  chisel 
seemed  to  sink  into  Coglan's  head. 

Allen  stood  and  clicked  his  teeth  over  his 
fallen  enemy,  who  sighed  like  a  neavy 
sleeper,  and  was  still.  It  was  a  moment  of 


Hicks  Comes  to  His  Rest     273 

tumult,  and  then  all  still  in  the  shop.  Then 
Shays  stumbled  backward  over  the  work 
bench,  and  dropped  on  the  hides.  Allen 
turned  and  looked  at  him,  putting  the  chisel 
into  one  of  the  side  pockets  of  his  coat, 
where  it  hung  half-way  out.  The  light  was 
growing  clearer  in  the  windows. 

"  That's  the  end  of  me,"  he  said. 

And  Shays  cried  angrily,  "  Wha's  that 
for?  "  and  cowered  with  fear  and  dislike  in 
his  red-lidded  eyes.  "  Keep  off  me !  You 
keep  off  me!" 

"  I  got  to  the  end,  Jimmy.  Good 
bye." 

"Keep  off  me!" 

Allen  hung  his  head  and  went  out  of  the 
shop  into  the  dark  hall. 

Shays  heard  his  steps  go  down  the  outside 
stairway.  He  scrambled  up  from  the  pile 
of  hides,  and  snatched  his  hat.  He  kept 
close  to  the  wall,  as  far  as  possible  from 
where  Coglan  lay  against  the  legs  of  the 
table.  He  was  afraid.  He  vaguely  wanted 


274     Hicks  Comes  to  His  Rest 

to  get  even  with  the  man  who  had  killed 
Coglan.  He  had  loved  Coglan,  on  the 
whole,  best  among  living  men. 

People  in  the  rooms  about  the  hall  were 
roused  by  the  noise,  and  were  stirring. 
Someone  called  to  him  from  a  door  in  the 
darkness.  He  hurried  down  the  outside 
stair.  On  Muscadine  Street  he  saw  Allen  a 
half  block  away,  walking  slowly. 

At  the  corner  of  the  next  street,  as  Allen 
stepped  from  the  curb,  the  chisel  dropped 
from  his  pocket,  but  he  did  not  notice  it, 
plodding  on,  with  head  down  and  drag 
ging  steps.  Shays  picked  up  the  chisel  when 
he  came  to  the  spot,  stared  at  it  stupidly,  and 
thrust  it  in  his  pocket.  The  two  kept  the 
same  distance  apart  and  came  out  on  the 
bridge. 

The  city  and  water-front  for  the  most  part 
were  quite  still,  though  it  was  nearly  time 
for  both  to  waken,  and  for  the  milk  and 
market  waggons  to  come  in,  and  the  trolley 
cars  to  begin  running.  The  street  lights 


Hicks  Comes  to  His  Rest     275 

had  been  turned  off.  There  were  forebod 
ings  of  sunrise,  over  and  beyond  the  disor 
derly  roofs  of  East  Argent.  In  the  hush  of 
that  hour  the  muttering  of  the  Muscadine 
whispering,  rustling  along  the  piers,  seemed 
louder  than  by  day.  The  dark  buildings 
on  the  western  river-front  had  the  red 
glimmer  of  the  sunrise  now  in  their  win 
dows.  No  one  was  on  the  bridge  except 
Shays  and  Allen,  possibly  a  hidden  and 
sleepy  watcher  in  the  drawbridge  house. 

Close  to  the  drawbridge  Allen  stopped 
and  looked  back.  Shays  stopped,  too,  and 
muttered,  "  Wha's  that  for?  Wha'  for?" 
and  found  his  mind  blank  of  all  opinion 
about  it,  and  so,  without  any  opinion  what 
for,  he  began  to  run  forward  at  a  stumbling 
trot.  Allen  glanced  back  at  him,  leaped  on 
the  guard  rail,  threw  his  hands  in  the  air, 
and  plunged  down  into  the  river. 

When  Shays  came  there  was  nothing  to  be 
seen  but  the  brown  rippled  surface;  nor  to 
be  heard,  except  the  lapping  against  the 


276     Hicks  Comes  to  His  Rest 

piers.  He  leaned  over  limply,  and  stared  at 
the  water. 

"  Wha'  for  ?  "  he  repeated  persistently. 
"Wha's  that  for?"  and  whimpered,  and 
rubbed  his  eyes  with  a  limp  hand,  and  leaned 
a  long  time  on  the  rail,  staring  down  at  the 
mystery,  with  the  other  limp  hand  hung  over 
the  water  pointing  downward.  "  Wha' 
for?" 

The  city  was  waking  with  distant  mur 
murs  and  nearby  jarring  noise.  A  freight 
train  went  over  the  P.  and  N.  bridge. 

Shays  drew  back  from  the  railing  and 
shuffled  on  till  he  had  come  almost  to  Bank 
Street;  there  he  stopped  and  turned  back, 
seeing  a  trolley  car  in  the  distance  coming 
down  Maple  Street.  He  went  down  on  the 
littered  wharves,  close  to  the  abutments  of 
the  bridge,  sat  down  on  a  box,  leaned  against 
the  masonry,  and  took  from  his  pocket  the 
chisel  he  had  picked  up,  stared  at  it,  rubbed 
it  in  the  refuse  at  his  feet,  and  put  it  back  in 
his  pocket.  The  sun  was  risen  now,  the 


Hicks  Comes  to  His  Rest     277 

spot  grew  pleasantly  warm,  and  he  went  to 
sleep  muttering  in  the  morning  sunlight  on 
the  wharf  by  the  Muscadine,  and  over  his 
head  went  the  trucks,  waggons,  trolley  cars, 
the  stamp  of  hoofs,  and  the  shuffle  of  feet. 


CHAPTER  XV 
Ibennion  anD 


HENNION  came  to  his  office  early  that 
Saturday  morning  with  his  mind 
full  of  Macclesfield's  bridge,  and  of  the 
question  of  how  to  get  Macclesfield  in 
terested  in  the  Boulevard  and  the  parks.  He 
wondered  how  Macclesfield  would  take  to 
the  part  of  a  municipal  patriot.  He  thought 
that  if  he  could  only  conquer  some  shining 
success,  something  marked,  public,  and  cele 
brated,  then,  perhaps,  his  success  might  suc 
ceed  with  Camilla.  At  any  rate,  it  paid  to 
keep  your  eyes  on  the  path  where  you  seemed 
to  be  getting  somewhere,  and  to  follow  that 
path,  for  so  one  travelled  ahead  and  found 
that  success  attracted  success  by  a  sort  of 
gravitation  between  them.  All  things  came 
about  to  him  who  kept  going.  This  was  the 
native  Hennion  philosophy,  of  father  and  son, 
278 


Hennion  and  Shays          279 

much  as  it  was  a  Champney  trait  to  crave 
something  to  canonise.  Neither  Henry 
Champney  nor  Camilla  could  ever  find  peace 
without  believing  something  to  be  better 
than  they  could  prove  it  to  be;  neither  the 
elder  Hennion  nor  his  son  could  ever  find 
peace  without  the  occupation  o'f  making 
something  a  little  better  than  it  had  been. 

Hennion  leaned  back  in  his  office  chair 
and  stared  out  of  the  window.  "  I'll  bet 
Miss  Eunice  is  level-headed,"  he  thought. 

The  half-begun  plans  and  rough  drawings 
for  Macclesfield's  bridge  lay  reproachful  on 
his  desk;  a  typewriter  clicked  in  the  ante 
room  ;  the  clamour  of  trucks  and  trolley  cars 
came  in  through  the  window,  familiar 
noises,  now  sounding  dull  and  far  away  to 
his  ears.  The  maze  of  telephone  wires  and 
the  window  panes  across  the  street  glittered 
in  the  bright  sunlight. 

The  sound  of  shambling  feet  outside  ap 
proached  the  corridor  door.  The  owner  of 
the  feet  knocked,  hesitated,  and  came  in, 


280          Hennion  and  Shays 

the  pallid,  unsubstantial,  wavering  Shays. 
His  lips  trembled,  and  his  hand  lingered  on 
the  door  knob.  Hennion  swung  around 
promptly  in  his  chair. 

"  Look  here,  Shays !  You  don't  get  nour 
ishment  enough!  You've  burnt  holes  in 
your  stomach  till  it  won't  hold  any  more 
than  a  fish  net.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what 
you'd  better  do." 

"  Misser  Hennion — Misser  Hennion — I 
want  you  to  see  me  through !  " 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  with  scattered 
fingers,  appealingly. 

"  I  want  you — Misser  Hennion — you  see 
me  through ! " 

"Oh,  come  in!    Sit  down." 

Shays  sat  down,  and  Hennion  looked  him 
over. 

"Had  any  breakfast?" 

"  I  want  you  see  me  through ! " 

"What's  the  matter?" 

Shays  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  chair  and 
told  his  story,  waving  a  thin  hand  with  high 


Hennion  and  Shays          281 

blue  veins.    He  hurried,  stumbled,  and  came 
on  through  confusion  to  the  end. 

"  Hicksy  come  about  three  o'clock,"  he 
said.  "  I  didn't  do  nothing,  and  Tom  he 
was  asleep.  Tha's  right.  We  didn't  want 
him,  but  he  woke  me  up,  and  he  says,  *  I'm 
off,  Jimmy,'  like  that.  '  I  broke  jail/  he 
says,  '  an'  ye  needn't  wake  Coglan,'  he  says, 
like  that.  Then  I  gets  up  and  I  falls  down, 
plunk!  like  that,  and  Tom  woke  up.  Then 
he  goes  arguin'  with  Hicksy,  like  they  al 
ways  done,  and  he  says,  '  You  stay  under 
Jimmy's  bed,'  he  says,  friendly,  like  that. 
'  You  get  off  when  there  ain't  nobody 
lookin','  he  says.  But  Hicksy  says,  *  You're 
lookin'  for  the  reward;  you're  goin'  to  sell 
me  out,'  he  says.  Then  he  says  he's  off, 
but  Tom  won't  let  him.  Then  they  clinched, 
and  Hicksy  hit  him  with  the  chisel.  Oh, 
my  God!  Misser  Hennion!  You  see  me 
through!  He  dropped,  plunk!  like  that, 
plunk!  Oh,  my  God!  Misser  Hennion! 
Jus'  like  that,  plunk !  He  clipped  him  dead. 


282          Hennion  and  Shays 

He  did,  too ! "  Shays  paused  and  rubbed 
his  lips. 

"  What  next?" 

"  Then  he  says,  '  Jimmy,  that's  the  end  of 
me/  like  that,  and  he  put  that  thing  what  he 
done  it  with  in  his  pocket.  He  goes  creepin', 
scroochin'  out  the  door,  like  that,  creepin', 
scroochin'.  Oh,  my  God!  Misser  Hen 
nion  !  I  ain't  goin'  to  stay  there  alone !  Not 
me!  I  goes  after  him.  And  in  Muscadine 
Street  I  see  him,  but  it  was  dark,  but  I  see 
him  creepin',  scroochin'  along  to  the  bridge; 
I  see  the  chisel  fall  out  and  it  clinked  on  the 
stones.  Pretty  soon  I  picks  it  up,  and  pretty 
soon  I  see  Hicksy  out  on  the  bridge.  Then 
he  stopped.  Then  I  knowed  he'd  jump. 
Then  he  jumped,  plunk!  jus'  like  that, 
plunk!" 

He  had  the  chisel  in  his  hand,  and  showed 
it  to  Hennion. 

"  Let  me  see  that." 

Hennion  swung  away  in  his  chair  toward 
the  light  and  examined  the  battered  handle 


Hennion  and  Shays          283 

with  the  straggling,  ill-cut,  and  woe-begone 
face  traced  there. 

He  turned  slowly  and  took  a  newspaper 
from  his  desk,  rolled  up  the  chisel  in  the 
newspaper,  thrust  it  into  a  drawer,  locked 
the  drawer  and  turned  back  to  the  muttering 
Shays. 

"I  see.    What  next?  " 

"  I  says,  '  Wha'  for?  Wha's  that  for? ' 
Then  I  come  to  that  place,  and  there  ain't 
nothin'  there.  He  got  under  quick,  he  did. 
He  stayed  there.  He  never  come  up.  I 
watched.  He  never  come  up.  Oh,  my  God ! 
Misser  Hennion,  I  ain't  goin'  to  stay  there ! 
Folks  was  comin'  on  the  bridge.  I  ain't 
goin'  to  stay  there !  " 

"I  see.    What  next?" 

"Next?" 

"  Where'd  you  go  then?  " 

"  Misser  Hennion !  I  went  down  under 
along  the  bridge,  where  there  wa'n't  any 
body." 

"What  next?" 


284          Hennion  and  Shays 

"Next?" 

"  Did  you  meet  anyone?  Say  anything?" 
"Wha'  for?    Wha's  tha'  for?" 
"  What   did   you   do  between   then   and 
now?" 

"  Me?    Nothin' !    I  went  to  sleep  by  the 
bridge.     Then   I   got  breakfast   at  Riley' s 
'All  Night.'     Then  I  come  here.     I  ain't 
said  a  word,  excep'  to  Riley." 
"  What  did  you  say  to  Riley  ?  " 
"  Me !     I   says,    l  Give   me  some  coffee 
and    an    egg   sandwich/    and    Riley   says, 
'  Ye' re  a  dom  little  gutter  pig,  Jimmy/  and 
tha's  every  word." 
"  I  see." 

"  Misser  Hennion !  You  see  me  through !" 
"  All  right.  But  you've  got  to  mind  this, 
or  I  get  out  from  under  you.  You  leave  out 
Hicks'  dropping  that  chisel,  or  your  picking 
it  up.  He  dropped  nothing;  you  picked 
up  nothing.  Understand?  He  hit  Coglan 
with  something  he  had  in  his  hand.  What 
ever  it  was,  never  mind.  He  put  it  in  his 


Hennion  and  Shays          285 

pocket  and  carried  it  off.  You  followed. 
You  saw  him  jump  off  the  bridge.  That's 
all.  Tell  me  the  thing  again,  and  leave 
that  out.  Begin  where  Hicks  waked 
you." 

"Me!    Wha'  for?    Wha's  tha'  for?" 

"  I  want  you  to  get  it  fixed.  Oh,  never 
mind  why !  Fire  away !  " 

While  Shays  repeated  the  story  Hennion 
swung  to  and  fro  in  his  swing  chair. 

He  had  not  seen  the  chisel  these  half- 
dozen  years,  but  he  knew  the  battered 
handle  and  the  woful  cherub  face  as  the 
face  of  an  old  friend.  He  knew  the  niche  in 
the  tool  chest  where  it  belonged,  and  the  spot 
where  the  tool  chest  stood  in  the  room  high 
over  the  mansards,  from  whose  windows  one 
looked  through  the  upper  branches  of  the 
trees  out  on  the  Muscadine.  There  in  the 
summer  the  maple  leaves  would  flicker  in 
the  sunlight,  and  in  winter  through  bare 
branches  one  could  see  the  river.  There 
Milly  used  to  sit  on  the  floor  with  a  white 


286          Hennion  and  Shays 

apron  on  and  a  red  ribbon,  and  chatter  like 
a  sweet-voiced  canary  bird. 

He  went  over  again  the  connection  that 
had  first  flashed  past  his  mind,  between  the 
chisel  in  the  Champney  tool  chest  and  the 
one  wrapped  in  a  newspaper  in  his  desk. 
Aidee  visited  Hicks  Thursday  night ;  Friday 
afternoon  he  was  at  the  Champney  house, 
where  Miss  Eunice  had  noticed  emotion, 
conjectured  a  crisis,  and  was  moved  to  give 
advice;  Friday  night  Hicks  broke  jail  and 
went  to  Shays,  quarrelled  with  and  killed 
Coglan,  and  went  off  to  another  world,  leav 
ing  Shays  with  the  chisel;  Saturday  morning 
comes  Shays,  along  with  the  story  that  he 
was  stumbling  through  now,  anxiously  shy 
ing  around  the  forbidden  part  of  it.  Well,  but 
— now  as  to  Aidee — that  was  the  second  time 
he  had  been  to  Camilla  for  help,  and  Henry 
Champney  had  liked  that  sort  of  business  no 
better  than  Hennion.  It  wouldn't  do.  As 
to  Camilla,  of  course  the  "  little  maid " 
would  be  "  game,"  but  that  gameness  was  a 


Hennion  and  Shays          287 

bit  too  convenient  for  men  like  Aidee,  who 
came  along  with  a  wheelbarrow  full  of  ce 
lestial  purposes  in  front  and  a  cartload  of 
tragedies  behind.  Hennion  did  not  like  the 
kind.  A  man  ought  to  handle  his  own  trou 
bles  and  not  drag  women  into  them;  that  is 
to  say,  not  Camilla.  Why  in  thunder 
couldn't  he  keep  his  mouth  shut,  and  buy  a 
respectable  burglar's  outfit,  like  a  gentleman, 
from  a  respectable  hardware  dealer!  How 
ever,  as  to  Miss  Eunice's  "  crisis,"  it  looked 
as  if  Aidee  must  have  been  confessing  his 
criminal  family,  instead  of  the  condition  of 
his  heart.  Aidee  was  having  a  run  of  hard 
luck.  Still,  his  criminal  family  was  out  of 
the  way  now,  which  did  not  seem  a  bad  idea. 
Any  chance  of  Camilla's  name  being  men 
tioned  would  have  to  be  smothered  of  course, 
which  meant  smothering  the  whole  thing. 

"  Go  on,  Jimmy.     Your  style's  picking 
up." 

But,  of  course,  Camilla  now  would  take 
into  her  soul  all  the  responsibilities  in  sight, 


288          Hennion  and  Shays 

and  brood  and  sadden  over  her  fancies, 
and  have  nightmares.  That  wouldn't  do 
either. 

"  Very  good,  Jimmy/' 

He  must  see  Camilla,  and  be  the  first  to 
tell  her.  Being  inside  the  story  now,  he 
could  give  a  healthy  point  of  view  from  the 
inside. 

"Plunk!  jus'  like  that!"  said  Shays. 
"  He  went,  plunk !  I  come  up,  and  I  looked, 
and  he  wa'n't  there.  Wa'n't  nothin'  there. 
He  got  under  quick.  He  stayed,  but  I  wa'n't 
goin'  to  stay.  Wha'  for?  Wha's  that  for? 
Folks  was  comin'  down  Maple  Street  and  I 
come  away.  I  ain't  see  no  more  of  him,  but 
Tom,  he's  under  the  table,  and  there  ain't 
no  use  in  that,  not  him,  nor  I  ain't  goin'  to 
stay  there,  not  him." 

"  You  wander,  Jimmy.    Who's  '  him  '  ?  " 

Miss  Eunice  was  a  wise  woman,  and 
according  to  her  wisdom  love  was  a  sort 
of  continuity  of  surprise,  because  women 
wanted  it  that  way,  and  they  held  the  lead- 


Hennion  and  Shays          289 

ing  ideas  on  the  subject.  Humph!  Well — 
Camilla's  joining  Aidee  that  way  was  curious, 
and  in  fact,  that  "  continuity  of  surprise  "  was 
all  right.  Aidee  preached  a  kind  of  contempt 
for  law ;  his  doctrine  always  led  him  to  side 
with  the  individual  man  against  men  organ 
ised,  and  against  the  structure  of  things ;  and 
he  might  have  infected  Camilla  with  his 
view  of  things,  or  it  might  be  that  view  of 
things  natural  to  women,  their  gift  and 
function.  What  would  Camilla  do  next? 
"  God  knows !  "  She  would  see  that  the 
"  continuity  of  surprise "  was  all  right. 
What  on  earth  was  Jimmy  Shays  talking 
about  ? 

"  Tom  he  says  to  me,  '  Hicksy's  a  danger 
ous  man,  Jimmy/  he  says,  '  and  I  wouldn't 
trust  him  with  me  life  or  me  property. 
Nor,'  he  says,  '  I  don't  agree  with  his 
vilyanous  opinions/  he  says.  That  was 
Tom's  word,  '  vilyanous/  and  it's  true  and 
it's  proved,  Misser  Hennion,  ain't  it?  Sure! 
Then  he  jumps  into  the  river,  plunk!  like 


290          Hennion  and  Shays 

that,.  Misser  Hennion!  I  ain't  done  no 
harm." 

Shays  was  harmless  surely,  and  cobbled 
shoes  besides  for  the  benefit  of  society. 

"  Drop  it,  Jimmy.  We'll  go  over  to  the 
police  station." 


CHAPTER   XVI 
Camilla  (3oes  to  tbe  assembly  tmll 

CAMILLA  spent  the  morning  in  the 
store-room,  staring  through  the  win 
dow  at  the  tree  tops  and  glinting  river.  In 
the  afternoon  she  went  driving  with  her 
father.  Henry  Champney  was  garrulous  on 
the  subject  of  Dick's  plans  for  the  new  rail 
road  bridge  and  station,  the  three  parks  and 
moon-shaped  boulevard. 

"  His  conceptions  impress  me,  Camilla. 
They  do  indeed !  They  do  indeed !  " 

In  Wabash  Park  Champney's  imagination 
rose,  and  his  periods  lengthened.  He  fore 
saw  lakes,  lawns,  and  sinuous  avenues. 

"  Nature  judiciously  governed,  my  dear, 
art  properly  directed,  and  the  moral  dignity 
of  man  ever  the  end  in  view.  I  foresee  a 
great  and  famous  city,  these  vast,  green 
spaces,  these  fragrant  gardens.  Ha ! " 
291 


292   Camilla  Goes  to  Assembly  Hall 

He  gazed  benevolently  at  the  scrubby 
pastures,  and  the  creek  where  the  small  boys 
were  shooting  bullfrogs  with  rubber  slings. 

Camilla  felt  a  certain  vagueness  of  in 
terest,  and  vaguely  reproached  herself. 
What  was  Alcott  Aidee  doing?  Had  his 
brother  escaped?  What  was  this  dreadful 
brother  like  who  would  drag  him  away? 
But  Alcott  might  come  to  the  Champney 
house  that  afternoon.  He  might  be  there 
now.  She  must  go  back.  He  did  not  care 
for  parks  and  boulevards  and  bridges.  He 
loved  the  people,  and  sacrificed  himself  for 
the  people,  and  he  was  going  away,  and  did 
not  know  where  it  all  would  lead  him. 
What  did  it  matter  whether  or  not  one  made 
a  lawn  in  place  of  a  pasture  lot?  But  it 
must  be  wrong  not  to  be  interested  in  what 
Dick  did  and  planned,  or  what  her  father 
said  about  it.  She  forced  herself  to  answer 
and  smile.  Henry  Champney  was  too  busy 
unfolding  his  ideas  to  notice  that  her 
thoughts  were  absent.  But  Camilla  noticed 


Camilla  Goes  to  Assembly  Hall  293 

how  Dick's  doings,  sayings,  and  plans 
seemed  to  occupy  her  father's  mind  of  late. 

"A  noble  thought,  a  worthy  ambition," 
Champney  rumbled. 

So  they  drove  from  the  Park,  Champney 
muttering  and  booming,  Camilla  wrapped  in 
a  crowd  of  uncertain  fears  and  cravings. 
Through  this  cloud  came  the  half-distin 
guished  pain  of  feeling  that  her  father  could 
feel  it  possible  to  lean  on  anyone  but  her 
self,  and  find  a  wide  passage  through  some 
one  else  than  her  to  his  fine  victory  over  old 
age.  It  was  through  Dick,  and  of  course, 
that  made  it  more  natural,  but  it  hurt  her. 

She  must  find  Aidee  now.  If  his  brother 
had  escaped,  it  would  be  in  the  afternoon 
papers. 

When  they  reached  home  she  jumped  out 
and  ran  up  the  steps,  while  her  father  drove 
on  to  the  stable.  She  picked  up  the  paper 
that  lay  on  the  porch,  thrown  in  by  the 
passing  newsboy,  who  was  skilful  to  deliver 
papers  without  getting  off  his  bicycle.  She 


294  Camilla  Goes  to  Assembly  Hall 

went  upstairs,  and  did  not  look  at  the  paper 
till  she  reached  the  store-room. 

Henry  Champney  came  into  the  library, 
where  Miss  Eunice  was  sitting.  A  half 
hour  slipped  by. 

"That  boy!"  rumbled  Henry  Champney 
to  Miss  Eunice  in  his  library;  "  that  superla 
tive  procrastination!  that  acme  of  mental, 
moral,  and  physical  ineptitude!  Ha!  Why 
doesn't  he  bring  my  paper?  On  my  word, 
five  o'clock !  Five  o'clock !  Does  he  expect 
me  to  get  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  to 
read  it  ?  Nonsense !  I  won't  do  it !  " 

Miss  Eunice  shook  her  head  gloomily,  im 
plying  that  not  much  was  to  be  expected  of 
this  generation.  Richard,  she  said,  had 
been  in  to  see  Camilla.  He  had  been  very 
unsatisfactory  and  distrait.  He  had  said 
that  he  would  come  in  again  before  teatime. 
No  one  else  had  called.  She  was  of  the 
opinion  that  Richard  was  worried.  It  was 
not  proper  for  young  people,  when  their 
elders  were  speaking,  were  giving  im- 


Camilla  Goes  to  Assembly  Hall  295 

portant  advice — it  was  not  considerate  or 
well-bred  of  them  to  look  vague,  to  answer 
only  that  it  was  four  o'clock,  and  they  would 
come  back  to  tea,  when  neither  statement 
was  important.  The  paper  boy's  rough 
manner  of  throwing  the  paper  on  the  porch 
she  had  never  approved  of. 

They  were  still  on  the  subject  when 
Camilla's  step  was  heard  in  the  hall.  In 
stead  of  coming  into  the  library  she  went 
swiftly  out  of  the  front  door.  Miss  Eunice, 
at  the  window,  dropped  her  knitting. 
"  Camilla  is  going  out  again !  " 
Mr.  Champney  rumbled  inarticulately. 
Miss  Eunice  wondered  if  Camilla  could  have 
taken  the  paper  upstairs.  The  young  people 
of  this  generation  were  thoughtless,  incon 
siderate,  and  headstrong.  But  was  it  not  in 
justice  to  Camilla  to  suspect  her  of  carrying 
selfishly  away  her  father's  newspaper,  a 
thing  so  important  to  his  happiness  before 
tea?  Miss  Eunice  put  aside  her  knitting 
and  left  the  room,  feeling  uneasy. 


296   Camilla  Goes  to  Assembly  Hall 

She  climbed  the  stairs  and  looked  into 
Camilla's  room,  then  climbed  the  second 
flight  to  the  store-room.  On  the  floor  of  the 
store-room,  in  front  of  the  window,  lay  the 
paper,  crushed  and  rumpled.  Miss'  Eunice 
gasped,  took  it  up,  and  sat  down  on  the  tool 
chest.  How  could  Camilla  have  been  so 
rude,  so  inconsiderate!  The  staring  head 
lines  of  the  front  page  proclaimed :  "  Hicks 
Escaped;  a  Murder  and  a  Suicide.  The 
Incidents  of  a  Night."  "  Rumours  of  Im 
portant  Cabinet  Officer's  Retirement." 
"  Uprising  in  Southwestern  Europe  Ex 
pected.  Rumours  from  Roumania."  "  Hen- 
nion  and  Macclesfield  Are  Agreed.  Im 
provements  projected  in  Port  Argent." 
"  John  Murphy  knew  the  Deceased  Coglan." 
"  Father  Harra  Orders  Plain  Funerals  for 
his  Flock.  Two  Carriages  and  a  Hearse  are 
his  Limit." 

None  of  these  proclamations  gave  Miss 
Eunice  any  help  in  her  amazement.  No 
headline,  except  "  Hennion  and  Maccles- 


Camilla  Goes  to  Assembly  Hall  297 

field,"  seemed  to  have  any  bearing  on 
Camilla,  and  the  column  beneath  that  told 
nothing  that  Richard  had  not  already  told 
the  family,  about  a  railroad  bridge  and 
station,  park  improvements  and  so  on;  in 
which,  it  had  been  Miss  Eunice's  impression, 
Camilla  had  taken  less  interest  than  was  be 
coming. 

She  sat  on  the  tool  chest,  and  stared  at  the 
front  page  of  the  crumpled  newspaper,  with 
a  vague  sense  of  distress.  The  air  in  the 
room  seemed  tense,  the  creases  across  the 
front  of  the  paper  like  some  wild  and  help 
less  handwriting,  but  what  the  interlinear 
writing  meant,  or  whether  it  applied  to 
"  John  Murphy  "  or  "the  deceased  Coglan," 
or  "  Hennion  and  Macclesfield,"  or  the 
"  Cabinet  officer,"  was  beyond  her.  This 
sign  of  Miss  Eunice's  trouble  was  sure,  that 
she  sat  a  long  time  on  the  old  tool  chest,  and 
no  more  than  Camilla  remembered  that 
Henry  Champney  was  in  the  library,  forlorn 
of  his  afternoon  paper. 


298   Camilla  Goes  to  Assembly  Hall 

When  Hennion  came  to  the  Champney 
house  again,  it  was  a  little  before  six.  He 
saw  through  the  door  to  the  library  Mr. 
Champney's  white  head  bent  down  drowsily, 
where  he  sat  in  his  chair. 

Miss  Eunice  came  down  the  stairs,  agi 
tated,  mysterious,  and  beckoned  him  into  the 
parlour.  She  showed  him  the  crumpled 
newspaper. 

"  I  don't  understand  Camilla's  behaviour, 
Richard !  She  went  out  suddenly.  I  found 
the  paper  in  the  store-room.  It  is  so  unlike 
her !  I  don't  understand,  Richard !  " 

Hennion  glanced  at  the  front  page,  and 
stood  thinking  for  a  moment. 

"  Well  —  you'd  better  iron  it  out,  Miss 
Eunice,  before  you  take  it  to  Mr.  Champney. 
Milly  will  be  back  soon,  but  if  you're  worry 
ing,  you  see,  it  might  be  just  as  well.  He 
might  be  surprised." 

He  left  the  house,  took  a  car  up  Franklin 
Street  and  got  off  at  the  corner  by  the 
Assembly  Hall.  The  side  door  was  ajar. 


Camilla  Goes  to  Assembly  Hall  299 

He  went  in  and  heard  voices,  but  not  from 
Aidee's  study,  the  door  of  which  stood  open, 
its  windows  glimmering  with  the  remaining 
daylight.  The  voices  came  from  the  distance, 
down  the  hallway,  probably  from  the  As 
sembly  Hall.  He  recognised  Aidee's  voice, 
and  turned,  and  went  back  to  the  street  door, 
out  of  hearing  of  the  words. 

"  It's  the  other  man's  innings,"  he 
thought  ruefully.  But,  he  thought  too,  that 
Milly  was  in  trouble.  His  instinct  to  be  in 
the  neighbourhood  when  Milly  was  in 
trouble  was  too  strong  to  be  set  aside.  He 
leaned  his  shoulder  against  the  side  of  the 
door,  jammed  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  stood 
impassively,  and  meditated,  and  admired  the 
mechanism  of  things. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
BIDee— Camilla— Ibennfon 

CAMILLA  went  up  Bank  Street,  and 
took  a  car  at  the  corner  of  Franklin 
Street.  It  carried  her  past  the  Court  House 
Square,  and  so  on  to  the  little  three-cornered 
park,  where  stood  the  Seton  Avenue  As 
sembly  Hall,  and  opposite  the  Hall  the  block 
of  grey  houses  with  bay  windows,  of  which 
the  third  from  the  corner  was  Mrs.  Tillot- 
son's. 

That  lady  saw  Camilla  through  the  win 
dow  and  met  her  at  the  door. 

"  My  dear !  My  dear !  There  is  no  one 
here!  Positively!  And  my  little  drawing- 
room  usually  thronged !  Now,  we  can  have 
such  a  talk,  such  an  earnest  talk!  We 
women  must  unite.  The  Assembly  must 
take  a  position." 

She  sat  by  Camilla  on  the  sofa  and  clasped 

her  hand. 

300 


Aidee — Camilla — Hennion     301 

"  I — I  don't  quite  understand,"  said 
Camilla. 

"  Surely,  my  dear,  the  two  most  important 
questions  before  the  Assembly  are  these: 
First,  shall  we,  or  shall  we  not,  support  Mr. 
Hennion?  second,  shall  we,  or  shall  we  not, 
adopt  a  fixed  form  of  service,  more  ornate 
and  beautiful  ?  Mr.  Berry  takes  the  affirma 
tive  of  both,  Mr.  Ralbeck  the  negative.  I 
am  at  present  in  the  position  of  a  reconciler. 
I  have  in  particular  devoted  myself  to  the 
latter  question.  I  have  examined  thoroughly 
the  ritual  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church. 
I  have  offered  Mr.  Aidee  all  my  knowledge, 
all  my  literary  experience.  But  he  does  not 
as  yet  take  a  position!  " 

Camilla  promised  a  number  of  things,  and 
asked  for  Aidee.  Mrs.  Tillotson  thought 
he  was  at  the  Hall.  He  had  not  been  to 
lunch.  She  was  of  the  opinion  that  Mr. 
Aidee  was  distinctly  avoiding  her,  knowing 
that  she  would  insist  on  his  taking  a  posi 
tion,  knowing  her  to  be  right  in  insisting. 


302    Aidee — Camilla — Hennion 

Camilla  escaped,  and  crossed  the  Avenue 
to  the  little  side  door  that  led  into  a  hallway, 
out  of  which  opened  a  room  used  by  Aidee 
for  a  study.  The  door  on  the  street  was 
ajar.  She  had  never  entered  that  door  be 
fore.  She  knew  the  windows  of  the  study 
from  without. 

She  entered  the  dusky  hallway  and 
knocked  at  the  door  of  the  study,  but  no  one 
answered.  She  hesitated,  and  drew  back, 
and  then  tried  the  knob.  The  door  yielded 
and  opened,  but  the  room  was  empty. 

In  the  growing  dusk  the  corners  of  it 
were  quite  dark.  It  seemed  bare,  half- 
furnished — some  books  in  a  case,  a  matting, 
a  flat  littered  table,  a  few  chairs.  She 
grasped  at  the  sides  of  the  open  door,  for 
the  room  seemed  to  darken  and  lighten 
alternately,  and  be  so  full  of  meaning  as  to 
be  ghostly,  seeing  that  no  one  sat  at  the 
littered  table,  or  was  even  hiding,  crouching 
in  the  darkened  corners.  The  large  square 
windows  seemed  to  look  inward  rather  than 


Aidee — Camilla — Hennion     303 

outward,  as  if  the  centre  of  interest  were 
within,  and  everything  outside  were  mean 
ingless.  Yet  the  room  was  empty. 

She  gave  a  little  moan  of  disappointment 
and  helplessness.  He  must  be  hiding  and 
suffering  somewhere.  She  must  protect 
him  from  the  cruel,  clattering  noises  and 
tongues  outside!  the  dull,  selfish,  heartless 
people  outside,  to  whom  the  prophet  and 
martyr  was  forever  coming  and  forever  re 
jected,  wounded  by  blind  accidents,  by  peo 
ple  blind  as  accidents!  So  pitiful!  so  in 
tolerable  !  So  strange  that  the  room  should 
be  empty  of  Aidee,  and  yet  full  of  him! 
She  could  fancy  him  there,  pacing  the  yellow 
matting,  staring  at  the  window,  thinking, 
thinking. 

She  turned  back  from  the  half-lit  room  to 
the  darkened  hallway,  and  saw  that  another 
door  opened  out  of  it  at  the  end  furthest 
from  the  door  on  the  street.  Wherever  it 
led,  he  might  be  there. 

She  opened  it  bravely,  and  saw  only  a 


3  04     Aidee — Camilla — Hennion 

little  corridor,  crooking  suddenly  to  the  left 
and  even  darker  than  the  outer  hallway. 
She  felt  her  way  along  the  plastered  wall  to 
the  corner,  and  beyond  that  in  the  darkness 
felt  the  panels  of  a  final  door.  She  opened 
it,  half  expecting  a  closet  or  cellar  stair,  and 
almost  cried  out,  for  the  great,  dim,  glow 
ing,  glimmering  space  of  the  Assembly  Hall 
was  before  her,  with  its  windows  now 
turning  grey  from  the  outer  twilight;  but 
its  vaulted  roof,  its  pillars  and  curved  gal 
leries  of  brown  oak  could  be  distinguished, 
its  ranged  tiers  of  seats,  its  wide,  curved, 
carpeted  platform,  its  high  bulk  of  gilded 
organ  pipes.  She  had  seen  it  before  only 
when  the  tiers  of  seats  had  been  packed  with 
people,  when  Aidee  had  filled  the  remaining 
space  with  his  presence,  his  purposes,  and  his 
torrent  of  speech;  when  the  organ  had 
played  before  and  after,  ushering  in  and 
following  the  Preacher  with  its  rolling 
music ;  when  great  thoughts  and  sounds,  and 
multitudes  of  staring  and  listening  people 


Aidee — Camilla — Hennion     305 

had  been  there,  where  now  it  was  so  empty, 
so  lonely  and  still.  Silvery  dim  bars  of 
light  slanted  from  the  windows  downward 
to  the  centre  of  the  hall,  and  the  varnished 
backs  of  the  seats  shone  in  long  concentric 
curves.  Lines  of  darkness  lay  between 
them;  deep  darkness  was  under  the  gal 
leries;  shadows  clustered  in  the  vault  over 
head,  shadows  on  the  platform  below  the 
organ,  where  stood  the  Preacher's  high- 
backed  seat.  Aidee  had  given  the  Hall 
what  living  meaning  it  had.  Empty,  it  was 
still  haunted  by  his  voice,  haunted  by  his 
phrases. 

Camilla  held  her  breath  and  stared  from 
the  little  dark  door,  across  the  Hall,  and  saw 
Aidee  standing  by  one  of  the  gallery  pillars. 
She  started  forward.  Aidee  came  slowly 
from  under  the  gallery  to  meet  her. 

"Camilla!" 

"  Oh !     Why  didn't  you  come  ?  " 

"Come?" 

"  To  me.     I  thought  you  would !  " 


306    Aidee — Camilla — Hennion 

He  stood  silently  before  her,  and  seemed 
absorbed  and  constrained. 

"  When  did  you  know  ?  "  she  asked,  and 
he  answered  mechanically,  "  This  morning. 
I  went  down  and  saw  the  crowd  under  the 
window.  I  heard  them  talking.  A  news 
paper  reporter  told  me.  Then  I  went  to  the 
bridge,  but  there  was  another  crowd  there, 
looking  down  at  the  water.  So  I  came 
back." 

They  sat  down  in  one  of  the  seats.  Ca 
milla  felt  both  excited  and  constrained.  She 
was  afraid  to  go  on.  During  the  dumb  hour 
she  had  spent  in  the  store-room,  she  had  felt 
that  life  was  plainly  a  ruinous  affair,  and 
that  she  was  somehow  touched  by  a  horrible 
wickedness  and  stained  forever.  She  im 
agined,  shrinking,  some  disclosure  and  dis 
grace.  She  pictured  Henry  Champney's 
amazement  and  grief.  And  then  it  all  had 
been  swept  from  her  mind  by  the  thought  of 
Aidee,  suffering  somewhere  alone.  But 
now  that  she  had  found  him,  she  found  him 


Aidee — Camilla — Hennion     307 

reserved  and  quiet,  and  she  seemed  to  stop 
on  the  edge  of  a  gulf  or  crater,  to  peer  over, 
to  expect  some  red,  rending  explosion,  but 
it  was  all  still  and  dim  there;  and  it  stared 
up  at  her  coldly  and  quietly. 

"  I  came,  because  I  thought  I  could  help," 
she  said.  "  I  thought  it  would  help  us 
both." 

"  Are  you  troubled  ?  You'd  better  let  it 
go.  It's  the  end  of  that  story.  I've  fought 
it  out  now.  I'm  free  of  it." 

"  What  do  you  mean?" 

They  stared  closely  in  the  dusk  into  each 
other's  eyes.  Then  she  dropped  her  head, 
and  wept  with  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  It's  not  your  story,"  said  Aidee. 

"Yes,  it  is!    It's  mine!" 

Then  she  raised  her  head,  and  he  saw  her 
wet  eyes  glisten  in  the  dimness,  and  she 
said :  "  Teach  me  what  it  means."  And  a 
dull  shock  went  through  him  threaded  by  a 
sharp  pain,  a  sensation  so  penetrating  as  to 
resemble  pain,  and  desirable  enough  to  be 


308     Aidee — Camilla — Hennion 

called  happiness,  and  yet  not  like  any  pain  or 
happiness  in  the  remembered  stretch  of  his 
concentrated  and  brooding  life.  That  life, 
as  he  looked  back  on  it,  he  saw  starting  from 
the  old  farmhouse  on  the  plain,  with  its 
fallen  fences  and  dry  fields,  the  tired  face 
of  his  mother  in  the  house  door,  the  small 
impish  face  of  "  Lolly  "  by  his  side.  Next 
followed  the  big  brick  schoolhouse  in  the 
village,  the  schoolroom  that  he  disliked,  the 
books  that  he  loved,  the  smoky  chimney  of 
his  lamp,  the  pine  table  and  the  room  where 
he  studied;  from  which  he  would  have  to 
go  presently  down  into  the  street  and  drag 
Lolly  out  of  some  raging  battle  with  other 
boys,  struggling  and  cursing,  up  to  their 
room,  where  Lolly  would  turn  on  him  in  a 
moment  with  queer,  twisted,  affectionate 
smile,  and  clinging  arms — "  I  ain't  mad 
now,  Al."  Then  he  saw  the  press-room 
in  St.  Louis,  he  saw  Lolly  imprisoned 
and  then  suddenly  gone.  He  saw  the  mines 
and  the  crumbling  mountain  slopes  in 


Aidee — Camilla — Hennion     309 

Nevada,  the  sheds,  the  dump  cart,  the  spot 
where  he  had  poured  out  first  his  long  pent- 
up  dreams  to  a  rugged,  astonished  audience, 
and  where  that  new  passion  of  speech  had 
come  to  him,  that  had  seemed  to  fill  the  crav 
ing  void  in  his  heart ;  the  spot  where  he  had 
met  the  circuit-riding  bishop  and  T.  M. 
Secor.  Then  came  his  early  success  in  Port 
Argent  and  the  organisation  of  the  As 
sembly;  then  the  attack  on  Wood,  and  the 
growing  sense  of  futility,  in  that  while  many 
listened  and  praised,  little  happened  and 
little  came  of  their  listening  or  approval. 
"  They  take  me  for  an  actor,  and  the  As 
sembly  for  a  comedy,"  he  had  thought  bit 
terly,  and  he  had  written  "  The  Inner 
Republic,"  and  the  book  that  had  brought  to 
him  Camilla  Champney,  eager  and  pure- 
eyed,  and  asking,  "  What  does  it  mean?  It 
is  my  story  too !  " 

What  did  it  mean  ?  Lolly  lay  dead  in  the 
ooze  of  the  Muscadine  and  Port  Argent  was 
come  to  be  a  horror.  He  seemed  so  plainly 


3 1  o     Aidee — Camilla — Hennion 

to  have  failed,  so  drearily  was  Lolly  dead, 
and  all  the  fire  in  his  own  soul  dead  too,  gone 
out  in  cinders,  and  his  theory  of  life  cracked 
like  a  hollow  nutshell.  He  would  go  back  to 
the  mines,  or  to  the  slums  and  shops,  and 
live  again  with  the  sweating  hordes,  among 
whom  the  grim  secret  of  life  lay,  if  any 
where  ;  and  when  next  he  preached,  he  would 
preach  the  bitterest  fact  loudest.  No,  rather, 
if  life  is  hopeless  let  us  dig  in  the  earth  and 
say  nothing.  But  Camilla!  What  of  Ca 
milla  ?  And  what  did  she  mean  ?  Her  story 
too!  He  began  to  speak  slowly,  but  pres 
ently  grew  rapid  and  eager. 

"  How  can  I  explain  ?  I  never  knew  my 
fellow  men,  nor  cared  for  them.  They  were 
no  brothers  of  mine.  -I  had  but  one.  I  never 
loved  another  human  being,  not  these  twenty 
years,  but  I  had  the  kin  instinct  like  hun 
ger.  Allen  and  I  were  rooted  together.  I 
thought  I  was  a  prophet,  who  was  no  more 
than  a  savage.  Men  are  brothers  by  blood  or 
interest,  but  for  the  rest  they  fight  the  old 


Aidee — Camilla — Hennion     311 

war  that  began  before  the  earth  had  a  decent 
crust  to  cover  its  chaos.  Brotherhood  of 
wildcats !  " 

"Oh,  no!  no!"  she  cried. 

"  For  your  sake,  no,  Camilla !  Oh, 
through  you  I  could  hope  again !  You  will 
save  me,  I  will  cut  the  past  out  and  bury  it, 
I  will  begin  again.  I  will  count  this  place 
with  the  dead  and  leave  it  forever.  I  need 
you.  Come  with  me,  my  wife  and  hope  and 
guide.  Camilla,  help  me !  " 

"No,  no!" 

His  sharp,  strained  voice  frightened  her. 
His  eyes  glittered  and  his  face  was  white 
below  his  black  hair.  His  intensity 
frightened  her.  The  future  he  pointed  to 
threatened  her  like  an  overhanging  cloud,  the 
struggle  in  her  own  heart  frightened  her. 

"  You  said  the  story  was  yours.  Camilla, 
tell  me  so  again !  We'll  blot  it  out.  I  will 
forget !  I  need  you !  Come  away  from  this 
ghastly  city ! " 

Now  she  saw  her  father  in  his  library, 


312     Aidee — Camilla — Hennion 

his  white  head  bent.  He  was  waiting  and 
listening  for  her  footsteps ;  and  Dick  seemed 
to  be  standing  over  him,  listening  for  her  to 
come;  and  Aunt  Eunice,  near  by,  was  listen 
ing. 

"I  can't!"  she  cried.     "I  can't!" 

"  You  must !  Camilla !  We  will  go 
away.  It  would  be  possible  with  you.  I'll 
find  a  truth  yet  that  doesn't  lead  to  hell. 
I'll  be  a  leader  yet.  Camilla,  look  at  me !  " 

She  lifted  her  face  and  turned  slowly 
toward  him,  and  a  voice  spoke  out  in  the 
distant,  dark  doorway,  saying,  "  Milly !  " — 
and  then  hesitated,  and  Hennion  came  out. 

"  I  heard  you  crying,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  I  didn't  seem  to  be  able  to  stand  that." 

"  Dick !  Take  care  of  me !  "  she  cried, 
and  ran  to  him,  and  put  her  face  against  his 
arm.  The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  for 
a  moment. 

Aidee  said,  "  I'm  answered." 

"  I  think  you  gave  me  a  close  call,"  said 
Hennion,  and  drew  Camilla  past  him  into 


Aidee — Camilla — Hennion     3 1  3 

the  passage,  and  followed  her  a  few  steps. 
Then  he  turned  back,  thinking : 

"A  fanatic  is  a  term  that  mostly  defines 
the  definer,  instead  of  the  person  meant  to 
be  defined.  Sometimes  it  defines  the  man 
who  uses  it,  as  dense." 

At  any  rate  Aidee  was  a  force  and  had  a 
direction,  and  force  ought  not  to  be  wasted 
that  way,  for  the  credit  of  dynamics.  So 
Hennion  justified  himself,  and  then  confused 
his  motive  by  thinking,  "  It's  hardly  a  square 
game  besides."  He  stepped  from  the  door 
into  the  dim  Hall  again,  and  said  slowly : 

"  By  the  way,  I  saw  Hicks  last  one  night, 
some  two  weeks  ago,  and  he  told  me  who  he 
was.  He  intended,  I  believe,  to  leave  a  mes 
sage  for  you.  Maybe  he  mentioned  it  to 
you.  I  think  he  told  no  one  else  who  he 
was." 

Hennion  paused.  Aidee  made  no  motion 
nor  sound,  but  stood  stiffly  resistant. 

"Well,  you  see,  this  morning,  Jimmy 
Shays,  the  shoemaker,  brought  me  that 


314     Aidee — Camilla — Hennion 

chisel.  It  seems  Hicks  used  it  last  on 
Coglan,  and  then  left  it  behind  him,  which 
was  rather  careless.  Well,  I  knew  the  tool. 
The  fact  is,  it  was  mine.  Strikes  me  you 
might  as  well  have  gone  somewhere  else  for 
your  hardware." 

Still  no  sound. 

"  However,  being  mine,  I  took  the  liberty 
of  pitching  it  into  the  river,  where  it  really 
belonged,  and  swore  Jimmy  into  a  state  of 
collapsed  secrecy.  Consequently,  I'm  in 
collusion.  Consequently,  I'm  mentioning 
this  to  you  in  order  to  clean  up  the  ground 
between  us.  It  makes  no  great  difference. 
That's  all  right.  I  only  wanted  to  point  out 
that  you're  clear  of  the  mess.  Now,  there's 
a  job  for  you  in  Port  Argent.  I  think  you 
can  fill  the  place  rather  better — better  than 
anyone  else.  Will  you  stay?  " 

"  No." 

"Oh!  But  I've  heard  it  said,  political 
power  was  safe  in  the  hands  of  those  who 
had  to  make  a  sacrifice  in  order  to  accept  it." 


Aidee — Camilla — Hennion     3 1 5 

"  I  won't  make  it." 

"  It  turns  out  a  hypocritical  sacrifice  for 
me,  you  know.  I'm  on  the  highroad  to  cor 
ruption.  You  might  stay  in  Port  Argent 
and  keep  me  honest.  Will  you?" 

"  No." 

"  All  right.    Good-night." 

The  little  side  streets  between  Seton 
Avenue  and  Maple  Street  were  shaded  by 
young  maples,  the  street  lamps  frequent,  and 
now  being  lit.  Hennion  and  Camilla  walked 
slowly.  She  shivered  once  or  twice,  and 
half  sobbed,  and  clung  to  him.  They  talked 
very  little  at  first. 

"  Milly,"  he  said  at  last,  "  of  course,  you 
know,  I'm  backing  you,  anyway.  You  shall 
do  as  you  like." 

"  I  know,  Dick.  You're  good.  You're 
very  good  to  me." 

"  Well — maybe  I'm  wrong — I've  been 
that  before — but  it  looks  to  me  in  this  way, 
that,  after  all,  most  impossible  things  are 


3 1 6     Aidee — Camilla — Hennion 

possible  somehow,  or  somehow  else,  and  it's 
better  to  go  straight  at  the  steep  places.  It 
stirs  your  blood  to  see  how  steep  they  are. 
I  don't  know  altogether — I  don't  ask — but 
if  you  see  anything  that  looks  steep  ahead, 
why,  perhaps  it  is,  perhaps  it  is — but  then, 
what  of  it  ?  And  that's  the  moral  I've  been 
hedging  around  to,  Milly." 

After  a  silence  she  asked,  "  How  did  you 
know  I  was  there  ?  " 

"  I  thought  it  likely." 

He  told  her  of  his  talk  with  Hicks  in  the 
cell,  and  how  Shays,  the  shoemaker,  had 
come  to  him  that  morning,  but  he  omitted 
the  fact  that  the  chisel  had  been  "  used  on 
Coglan."  Passing  that  point,  he  went  on, 
comfortably  comforting. 

"  You  know,  people  don't  own  all  the  mis 
cellaneous  consequences  of  what  they  do. 
For  instance,  I  knew  Coglan.  He  was  a 
blackguard  and  loafer,  and  generally  drunk, 
and  his  death  was  rather  a  judicious  selec 
tion.  Hicks  was  a  curious  man.  Maybe  he 


Aidee — Camilla — Hennion     317 

wasn't  quite  sane.  He  jumped  into  the 
river  on  his  own  notion,  to  the  happy  relief 
of  the  public,  which  might  have  had  scruples 
about  hanging  him.  Still,  you  must  see 
that  as  you  didn't  arrange  all  these  social 
benefits,  they'll  have  to  be  credited  to  your 
good  luck,  if  they're  credited  at  all.  Aidee 
helped  him  to  break  jail,  which  was  natural 
enough.  It's  a  debatable  moral  maybe,  if 
anyone  wants  to  debate  it,  but  who  wants  to  ? 
I'm  no  casuist,  anyway.  He  shouldn't  have 
come  to  you.  But  since  he  did,  why,  of 
course  you'd  do  something  of  the  kind,  same 
as  the  wind  blows.  I  know  you,  Milly.  Is 
it  your  part  in  it  that  troubles  you?  You'd 
better  take  my  judgment  on  it." 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  said,  half  audibly. 

"My  judgment?  Only  that  I  want  you 
for  myself." 

He  went  on  quietly  after  a  pause :  "  There 
are  objections  to  interfering  with  the  law, 
if  your  conscience  means  that.  Those 
who  try  it,  I  think,  don't  often  know  what 


318     Aidee — Camilla — Hennion 

they're  doing.  If  they  do  it  theoretically, 
they're  staking  a  small  experience  against  a 
big  one.  The  chances  of  being  right  are 
mainly  against  them.  Aren't  they?  It 
looks  so.  Your  getting  mixed  with  that 
kind  of  thing  or  people,  is — would  be,  of 
course,  rather  hard  on  us,  on  Mr.  Champney 
and  me.  But  your  nerve  was  good.  Is  that 
what  you  want  my  judgment  on?  " 

They  turned  up  the  path  to  the  Champney 
house. 

"  You  knew  all  about  it ! "  she  said 
hurriedly.  "  But  you  don't  understand.  It 
was  because  I  thought  him  so  great  and 
noble,  and  I  do!  I  do!  Oh,  he  is!  But 
I'm  not  brave  at  all.  No,  you  don't  know! 
He  asked  me  to  help,  and  it  was  so  dark  and 
painful,  what  he  meant  to  do  before  he  came 
again.  It  frightened  me.  He  asked  me  to 
marry  him,  and  break  off  everything  here, 
and  I  was  afraid!  I'm  a  coward!  I 
wouldn't  do  it  because  I  was  afraid.  I'm  a 
coward." 


Aidee — Camilla — Hennion     319 

"  Did,  did  he?"  said  Hennion  comforta 
bly.  "  That  was  good  nerve,  too." 

"  You  don't  understand,"  she  said  with  a 
small  sob,  and  then  another. 

"  Maybe  not.     But  I  think  you  had  other 


reasons." 


They  looked  in  through  the  tall  library 
window,  and  saw  Henry  Champney  sitting 
alone  by  his  table,  the  gas  jet  flaring  over 
him,  and  his  white  head  dropped  over  on  his 
hand.  Hennion  went  on :  "  There's  some 
of  this  business  that  it  doesn't  suit  me  to 
argue  about  or  admit.  But  it  occurs  to  me 
that" — pointing  toward  the  window — "that 
may  have  been  a  reason." 

"  You  do  understand  that,"  she  said,  and 
they  went  in  together. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
ft.  flfc.  Secor— fbennfon— Camilla 

PORT  ARGENT  had  not  reached  such 
a  stage  of  civic  life  that  its  wealthy 
citizens  went  out  into  the  neighbouring 
country  by  reason  of  warm  weather.  Be 
sides,  the  neighbouring  country  is  flat,  and 
the  summer  heats  seem  to  lie  on  it  level  and 
undisturbed.  There  straight  roads  meet  at 
right  angles,  one  cornfield  is  like  another,  and 
one  stumpy  pasture  differs  little  from  the 
next.  It  is  fertile,  and  looks  democratic,  not 
to  say  socialistic,  in  its  monotonous  similar 
ity,  but  it  does  not  look  like  a  landscape  apt  to 
'draw  out  to  it  the  civilian,  as  the  hill  country 
draws  out  its  civilians,  with  the  thirst  of  the 
hill  people  for  their  falling  brooks  and 
stormy  mountains,  the  wood  thrushes  and 
the  columbine.  An  "  observer  of  decades  " 
might  have  remarked  that  Herbert  Avenue 
320 


Secor — Hennion — Camilla     3  2 1 

was  the  pleasantest  spot  he  had  seen  within 
a  hundred  miles  of  Port  Argent,  and  that 
the  civic  life  seemed  to  be  peculiarly 
victorious  at  that  point.  There  was  a  vil 
lage  air  about  the  Avenue,  only  on  a  statelier 
scale,  but  with  the  same  space  and  greenness 
and  quiet.  One  of  the  largest  houses  was  T. 
M.  Secor's. 

Secor  sat  on  his  broad  verandah  in  the 
early  twilight.  He  stirred  heavily  in  his 
chair,  and  stretched  out  a  great  hand 
thick  and  hard,  as  Hennion  came  up  the 
steps. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  sonny,"  Secor  said. 
"  Stick  up  your  feet  and  have  a  drink." 

"  Just  come  from  Nevada?  " 

"  One  hour  and  one-half  ago,  during  the 
which  time  Billy  Macclesfield's  been  here, 
greasy  with  some  new  virtues.  I  take  it  you 
had  something  to  do  with  greasing  him. 
Next  came  Ted,  who  said  he's  going  to  get 
married.  Next  came  Aidee  with  a  melo 
dious  melodrama  of  his  own,  and  said  he 


322     Secor — Hennion — Camilla 

was  going  to  quit  town.  Why,  things 
are  humming  here!  How  you  feeling, 
sonny?  " 

A  huge,  hairy,  iron-grey,  talkative  man, 
with  a  voice  like  an  amiable  bison,  was 
T.  M.  Secor. 

He  continued :  "  Hold  on !  Why,  Aidee 
said  you  knew  about  that  screed  of  his,  I 
gathered  you  got  it  by  a  sort  of  fortuitous 
congregation  of  atoms?  I  gathered  that 
there  brother  of  Aidee's  was,  by  the  nature 
of  him,  a  sort  of  fortuitous  atom." 

"  About  that." 

"  Just  so !  Well — you  ain't  got  a  melo 
dious  melodrama  too  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Hennion.  "  I  want  to  take 
up  the  conversation  you  had  with  Maccles- 
field." 

"Oh,  you  do!" 

"  I'm  not  feeling  greasy  with  virtue  my 
self,  you  know." 

"Oh,  you  ain't!" — Secor  was  silent  for 
some  moments. 


Secor — Hennion — Camilla     323 

"  I  guess  I'm  on  to  you,  sonny,"  he  said  at 
last.  "  Fll  tell  you  my  mind  about  it.  I 
think  you  handled  Macclesfield  all  right,  and 
that's  a  very  good  job,  and  you  may  be  solid 
now  with  the  gang,  for  aught  I  know,  but 
my  idea  is,  it  '11  be  only  a  question  of  time 
before  you  get  bucked  off.  I'd  give  you  a 
year,  maybe  two." 

"  I  think  so." 

"  You  figure  on  two  years  ?  " 

"  Next  election.  Tait's  out  with  me  now, 
and  he'll  get  a  knife  in  when  he  can. 
Beckett,  Freiburger,  and  Tuttle  will  prob 
ably  be  on  edge  before  next  spring.  That's 
too  soon.  Now — if  I  can  get  the  parks  and 
Boulevard  done,  I'm  willing  to  call  off  with 
out  a  row.  I  want  the  Manual  Training 
School  too.  But  Tuttle's  going  to  get  some 
rake  off  out  of  that.  Can't  help  it.  Any 
way  Tuttle  will  see  it's  a  good  enough  job. 
I  don't  mind  Cam,  and  John  Murphy's 
indecent,  but  reasonable.  But  Freiburger's 
going  to  be  a  holy  terror.  I  don't  see  that 


3  24     Secor — Hennion — Camilla 

I  can  run  with  that  crowd,  and  I  don't  see 
how  it  can  be  altered  much  at  present.  If 
I  split  it  they'll  lose  the  election.  Now — 
I  think  it  '11  split  of  itself,  and  I'd  be  of  more 
use  without  the  responsibility  of  having 
split  it.  I  think  so.  Anyhow,  I'm  going  to 
have  something  to  show  people  for  my 
innings." 
"  Just  so." 

After  another  silence  Secor  said :  "  What 
was  Wood's  idea  ?     D'you  know  ?  " 
"  He  thought  it  would  split  of  itself." 
"  Think  so?     Well,  I've  a  notion  he  had 
a  soft  side  to  him,  and  you'd  got  on  it. 
Well — I   don'  know.     Seemed  to  me  that 
way.     What  then?" 

"  Oh,  I'll  go  out.  I  don't  want  it  anyway. 
I  want  my  father's  job.  Maybe  I'm  a  bit  of 
a  Puritan,  Secor,  and  maybe  not,  but  when 
the  heelers  get  restless  to  explosion,  and 
the  Reformers  grimmer  around  the  mouth 
because  the  city  isn't  rosy  and  polite,  and  my 
general  utility's  gone,  I  expect  to  thank  God, 


Secor — Hennion — Camilla      325 

and  go  back  to  pile-driving  exclusive.  But 
I  want  time." 

"  Just  so.  I  can  keep  Beckett  and  Tuttle 
from  being  too  soon,  maybe.  That  what 
you  want  of  me?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  say  '  Wood's  machine/  "  Hennion 
went  on  after  a  while.  "  It's  a  poor  meta 
phor,  '  machine  politics/  '  machine  organisa 
tion.'  Why,  being  an  engineer,  I  ought  to 
know  a  machine  when  I  see  one.  I've  ana 
lysed  Wood's  organisation,  and  I  tell  you 
you  can't  apply  one  bottom  principle  of 
dynamics  to  it  to  fit.  The  machinery  is  full 
of  ghosts." 

The  two  smoked  a  while,  and  Hennion 
said:  "  How  about  Aidee?  " 

"  Ho !  I  don't  see  why  he  won't  stay  in 
Port  Argent." 

"  He  won't.     I  asked  him." 

"  You  don't  say  so !  Why,  there  you  are ! 
I  had  a  notion  you  two  might  team  it  to 
gether,  come  along  time  enough." 


326     Secor — Hennion — Camilla 

"  It  won't  work." 

"Ho!  Well!  I  dare  say.  Maybe  you 
know  why."  Another  silence.  Secor  said 
at  last : 

"  Dick,  I  got  only  one  real  notion  in  busi 
ness  and  philanthropy.  I  bank  on  it  in  both 
trades.  I  keep  gunning  for  men  with  coal 
in  their  engines  and  a  disposition  to  burn 
it,  and  go  on  till  they  bust  up  into  scrap 
iron,  and  when  I  find  one,  I  give  him  a  show. 
If  I  think  he's  got  the  instinct  to  follow  his 
nose  like  a  setter  pup,  and  not  get  nervous 
and  climb  telegraph  poles,  I  give  him  a 
show.  Well — Aidee  had  the  coal  and  the 
disposition,  and  he  burnt  it  all  right,  and  I 
gave  him  his  show.  Didn't  I  ?  He's  got  the 
idea  now  that  he's  run  himself  into  the  ditch 
and  turned  scrap  iron.  Humph !  Well !  He 
lost  his  nerve  anyway.  Why,  Hicks  is  dead, 
and  Wood's  dead,  and  they  can  scrap  it  out 
in  hell  between  'em,  can't  they?  What 
business  he  got  to  lose  his  nerve?  He  used 
to  have  an  idea  God  Almighty  was  in 


Secor — Hennion — Camilla      327 

politics,  and  no  quitter,  and  meant  to  have  a 
shy  at  business.  Interesting  idea,  that.  Ho ! 
He  never  proved  it.  What  the  blazes  he 
want  to  quit  for  now  ?  Well !  I  was  going 
to  say,  I'm  gambling  on  you  now  for  a  setter 
pup,  sonny,  without  believing  you  can  ride 
Wood's  machine.  I'll  give  you  a  show, 
when  you're  good  and  through  with  that. 
I've  been  buying  Chickering  R.  R.  stock. 
Want  some  of  it?  Yes,  sir,  I'm  going 
to  own  that  line  inside  a  year,  and  give 
you  a  job  there  that  '11  make  you  grunt  to 
reach  around  it.  Ho !  Ted  says  he's  going 
to  take  John  Keys'  girl  and  go  to  Nevada. 
Ain't  so  foolish  as  you'd  expect  of  him. 
Sounds  cheerful.  Ted's  a  drooling  damn 
fool  all  right,  but  he's  no  quitter.  I  hear 
you're  going  to  marry  Champney's  daugh 
ter?" 

"  I  will  if  I  can." 

"  You  don't  say !  Ain't  any  better  off'n 
that?  Humph!  Well,  Henry  Champney's 
petered  out,  but  then  he's  pretty  old  now. 


328      Secor — Hennion — Camilla 

He  could  talk  tall  in  his  time,  near  as  good 
as  Aidee,  but  more  windy.  Aidee  had  a 
better  outfit  of  brains,  but  Champney  was 
a  fine  figure  of  a  man,  and  burnt  coal  all 
right.  Why,  I  met  my  wife  on  a  lake 
steamer,  and  married  her  when  I  got  to 
Port  Argent  with  twenty-one  dollars  and 
fifty  cents  in  my  pocket,  and  she  never  un 
derstood  how  it  happened  —  claimed  she 
didn't,  anyhow — and  that  afternoon  I  heard 
Henry  Champney  make  a  speech  from  the 
Court  House  steps  that  sounded  like  he  was 
President  of  the  Board  of  Prophets,  and  I 
bet  a  man  twenty  dollars  Champney  was 
prophesying  all  right,  and  lost  it,  I  did.  I 
began  housekeeping  on  a  dollar  and  a  half. 
Yes,  sir.  '  Will  if  you  can ! '  Ho !  Well, 
why  can't  you  ?  " 

The  big  talkative  man  wandered  off  into 
mellow  reminiscence,  and  Hennion  presently 
took  his  leave. 

He  came  to  the  Champney  house  and  was 
about  to  ring  the  bell,  but  Camilla  spoke 


Secor — Hennion — Camilla      329 

from  the  corner  of  the  porch,  where  she  sat 
hidden  in  the  black  shadows  of  the  vines. 

"  Do  you  want  me,  Dick?  " 

"  Yes." 

From  the  outside,  where  the  nervous  elec 
tric  light  and  the  placid  moonlight  mingled, 
little  gimlets  of  light  bored  through,  insisted 
and  arrived,  through  the  matting  of  vine 
leaves  that  hid  the  porch,  and  made  little 
specks  of  light  within,  impertinent  and  curi 
ous,  little  specks  on  the  wall,  little  specks  on 
the  floor. 

"  Want  you !  "  Hennion  said.  "  I  always 
want  you." 

He  bent  over  till  her  breath  was  warm 
on  his  face. 

"  How  can  you  be  so  near  me,  and  so  far 
away?  Did  you  think  I  loved  you  as  a 
habit  ?  You're  God's  crown  of  glory  that  he 
sent  me,  but  it  won't  stay  still  on  my  head. 
Do  you  remember  when  you  used  to  sit  on 
the  floor  upstairs  in  a  white  dress,  with  a 
red  ribbon  on  it  somewhere  ?  Don't  remem- 


330     Secor — Hennion — Camilla 

her  the  red  ribbon?  You  used  to  cut  faces 
on  shingles,  with  dismal  expressions  and 
hard-luck  features,  and  you  thought  they 
were  the  beautifullest  things,  and  got  very 
hot  because  I  didn't.  But  I  thought  that  you 
were  the  beautifullest  girl  with  the  red  rib 
bon.  I  did  so." 

"  I  didn't  know  that." 

"  I  know.  I'm  a  poor,  tongue-tied  lover, 
Milly.  I  ought  to  fling  myself  loose  on 
the  subject,  and  describe  the  gorgeous  state 
of  my  heart,  and  lie  like  a  seaman  ashore, 
if  I  had  the  gift  of  my  calling.  I'm  no 
poet  or  dreamer  of  dreams.  I'm  after  reali 
ties.  I  don't  expect  to  be  a  burning  and 
shining  light  to  other  people  or  reform  any 
body  whatever,  but  I  expect  to  please  one 
girl,  if  she'll  let  me  try.  Real  things! 
What  do  you  suppose  they  are  ?  One  time  I 
was  born,  and  now  I  love  you,  and  some 
time  I'll  die,  and  God  knows  what  then. 
Are  those  realities?  Can  you  see  the  river 
there,  where  the  moonlight  is  on  it?  It 


Secor — Hennion — Camilla      3  3 1 

runs  down  to  the  lake,  and  the  force  that 
draws  it  down  is  as  real  as  the  river  it 
self.  Love  is  a  real  thing,  more  real  than 
hands  and  feet.  It  pulls  like  gravitation 
and  drives  like  steam.  When  you  came  to 
me  there  at  the  Hall,  what  was  it  brought 
you?  An  instinct?  You  asked  me  to  take 
care  of  you.  I  had  an  instinct  that  was 
what  I  was  made  for.  I  thought  it  was  all 
safe  then,  and  I  felt  like  the  eleventh  com 
mandment  and  loved  mine  enemy  for  a 
brother.  I  can't  do  anything  without  you! 
I've  staked  my  hopes  on  you,  so  far  as  I  can 
see  them.  I've  come  to  the  end  of  my  rope, 
and  there's  something  between  us  yet,  but 
you  must  cross  it.  I  can't  cross  it." 

From  where  Hennion  sat  he  could  look 
past  the  porch  pillar,  to  the  spot  at  the  street 
corner  directly  under  the  electric  light. 
The  street  was  deserted  except  for  some 
solitary  walker,  pacing  the  sidewalk  slowly 
past  the  house,  and  hidden  from  Hennion 
by  the  porch  vines.  Now  he  had  turned 


Secor  —  Hennion  —  Camilla 


and  was  coming  back  again  slowly  to  the 
corner,  and  now  Hennion  glanced  out  be 
yond  the  pillar  and  saw  Aidee  standing 
under  the  electric  light.  Then  Aidee  was 
again  hidden  by  the  porch  vines,  and  again 
his  slow  footsteps  passed  on  the  sidewalk 
some  hundreds  of  feet  from  the  porch. 

"Can  I  cross  it?"  Camilla's  voice 
sounded  older,  not  buoyant,  but  tired  and 
humble,  and  sinking  lower  and  lower  as  she 
went  on.  "  Can  I  ?  If  love  were  the  same 
as  faith  !  There's  no  one  else  I  can  believe 
in,  in  this  way,  as  I  do  in  you,  dear.  I'm 
so  sure,  but  I  thought  —  but  can  I  come  ?  If 
you  tell  me  truly  that  I  can  come  —  I  will 
believe  what  you  tell  me." 

Hennion  wondered  if  Aidee  had  come  to 
take  his  last  look  at  the  house,  or  were  de 
bating  in  his  mind  whether  or  not  he  should 
enter.  He  turned  on  Camilla,  and  thrust 
his  arm  beneath  her,  and  drew  her  to  him 
sharply.  He  expected  a  remonstrance,  but 
none  came;  only  a  small  sigh  whose  mean- 


Secor — Hennion — Camilla      333 

ing  was  as  imponderable  as  the  scent  of  the 
little  white  flowers  that  grew  on  the  porch 
vines;  and  her  hand  lay  still  on  one  of  his 
shoulders,  and  her  head  with  its  thick  hair 
on  the  other. 

"  You  have  come !  "  he  said. 

Another  small  sigh,  a  moment's  weighing 
of  the  statement. 

"  Yes.     I  have." 

Aidee  passed  under  the  electric  light  once 
more,  and  looked  his  last  on  the  Champney 
windows,  unnoticed  now  from  the  Champ 
ney  porch,  unaware  that  there  was  anyone  to 
notice  him  in  the  shadow  of  the  deep  porch 
vines,  with  their  small  white  glimmering 
blossoms.  He  quickened  his  pace  and  went 
his  way  up  Bank  Street. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
Conclusion 

HENNION  and  Camilla  were  married 
in  the  fall  when  the  maple  leaves 
were  turning  yellow  and  red.  It  may  be 
that  Camilla  thought  of  herself  as  one  con 
senting  with  humility  to  enter  a  quiet  gate 
way,  the  shelter  of  a  garden  whose  walks 
and  borders  she  knew ;  and  it  may  be  that  she 
was  mistaken  and  found  it  a  strange  garden 
with  many  an  herb  of  grace,  and  many 
an  old-fashioned  perennial  as  fairly  em 
broidered  as  any  that  grow  in  Arcadia;  for 
when  one  has  found  that  the  birth  of  one  of 
the  common  flowers  and  hardy  perennials 
comes  as  wonderfully  out  of  the  deeps  as  the 
birth  of  a  new  day,  it  may  be  that  one  under 
stands  heaven  even  better  than  when  floating 
in  Arcadia  among  its  morning  islands. 
She  could  never  truly  have  a  working  share 

334 


Conclusion  335 


in  Dick's  working  life.  She  could  sympa 
thise  with  its  efforts  and  achievements,  but 
never  walk  even  with  him  along  that  road. 
He  would  come  to  her  tired,  asking  for 
home  and  rest,  but  never  sick  of  soul,  asking 
for  healing,  nor  troubled  and  confused,  ask 
ing  for  help.  It  was  not  his  nature.  One 
must  take  the  measure  of  one's  destiny  and 
find  happiness  therein.  After  all,  when  that 
is  found,  it  is  found  to  be  a  quite  measureless 
thing;  and  therefore  the  place  where  it  is 
found  must  be  a  spacious  place  after  all,  a 
high-roofed  and  wide-walled  habitation. 

Who  is  so  rich  in  happiness  as  to  have 
any  to  throw  away  ?  We  are  beggars  rather 
than  choosers  in  that  commodity.  And 
Time,  who  is  represented  with  his  hour 
glass  for  measuring,  his  scythe  for  destruc 
tion,  his  forelock  for  the  grasp  of  the  vigi 
lant,  except  for  his  title  of  Father  Time,  has 
been  given  no  symbol  definitely  pointing  to 
that  kindness  of  his  as  of  a  good  shepherd, 
that  medicinal  touch  as  of  a  wise  physician, 


336  Conclusion 


that  curious  untangling  of  tangled  skeins  as 
of  a  patient  weaver,  that  solution  of  improb 
able  equations  as  of  a  profound  algebraist. 
But  yet  a  little  while,  and  let  the  winds 
freshen  the  air  and  the  waters  go  their  clean 
rounds  again,  and  lo!  he  has  shepherded  us 
home  from  the  desert,  and  comforted  us  in 
new  garments,  and  turned  our  minus  into 
plus  by  a  judicious  shifting  across  the  equa 
tion.  Shall  we  not  give  him  his  crook,  his 
medicine  case  and  license  to  practise,  his 
loom,  his  stylus  and  tablets,  and  by  oracle 
declare  him  "  the  Wisest,"  and  build  him  a 
temple,  and  consult  his  auspices,  and  be  no 
more  petulant  if  he  nurtures  other  seeds 
than  those  of  our  planting,  the  slow,  old- 
fashioned,  silent  gardener?  We  know  no 
oracle  but  Time,  yet  we  are  always  harking 
after  another.  He  is  a  fluent,  dusky,  im 
perturbable  person,  resembling  the  Musca 
dine  River.  He  goes  on  forever,  and  yet 
remains.  His  answers  are  Delphic  and  am 
biguous.  Alas!  he  tends  to  drown  enthu- 


Conclusion  337 


siasm.  Who  is  the  wisest?  "  The  one  who 
knows  that  he  knows  nothing,"  quoth  your 
cynic  oracle.  What  is  justice?  "A  solemn 
lady,  but  with  so  bandaged  eyes  that  she  can 
not  see  the  impish  capers  of  her  scales." 
What  is  happiness?  As  to  that  he  answers 
more  kindly.  "  In  the  main,"  he  says,  "  hap 
piness  is  a  hardy  perennial." 

The  "  observer  of  decades,"  who  came  to 
Port  Argent  some  years  later,  found  it  proud 
of  its  parks,  its  boulevard,  and  railroad  sta 
tions,  its  new  court  house,  and  jail,  and 
manual  training  school;  proud  of  its  rapid 
growth,  and  indignant  at  the  inadequacy  of 
the  national  census.  He  was  shown  the  new 
streets,  and  driven  through  suburbs  where 
lately  pasture  and  cornfields  had  been.  He 
found  Port  Argent  still  in  the  main  electric, 
ungainly,  and  full  of  growing  pains,  its  prob 
lem  of  municipal  government  still  inaccu 
rately  solved,  the  system  not  so  satisfactory 
a  structure  as  the  railroad  bridge  below  the 
boathouses,  built  by  Dick  Hennion  for  the 


338  Conclusion 


North  Shore  Railroad.  In  shop  and  street 
and  office  the  tide  of  its  life  was  pouring  on, 
and  its  citizens  held  singular  language.  Its 
sparrows  were  twittering  in  the  maples, 
bustling,  quarrelling,  yet  not  permanently 
interested  in  either  the  sins  or  the  wrongs 
of  their  neighbours,  but  going  tolerantly  to 
sleep  at  night.  Here  and  there  a  bluebird 
was  singing  apart  its  plaintive,  unfinished 
"  Lulu-lu." 

He  inquired  of  one  of  Port  Argent's  cit 
izens  for  news,  and  heard  that  the  "  Inde 
pendent  Reformers "  had  won  an  election 
sometime  back;  that  they  were  out  again 
now,  and  inclined  to  be  vituperative  among 
themselves;  that  Port  Argent  was  again  led 
by  Marve  Wood's  ring,  which  was  not  such 
a  distressing  ring  as  it  might  be.  Hennion 
was  not  in  it  now.  No,  but  he  was  suspected 
of  carrying  weight  still  in  the  party  councils, 
which  perhaps  accounted  for  the  "  ring's  " 
not  being  so  distressing  as  it  might  be. 

"  He   did  more  than  he  talked  about," 


Conclusion  339 


said  the  garrulous  citizen.  "  But  speaking  of 
talkers,  there  was  a  man  here  once  named 
Aidee.  You've  heard  of  him.  He's  get 
ting  celebrated.  Well,  I'm  a  business  man, 
and  stick  to  my  times.  But  I  read  Aidee's 
books.  It's  a  good  thing  to  do  that  much." 

The  observer  of  decades  left  the  garrulous 
citizen,  and  went  down  Lower  Bank  Street. 
He  noted  the  shapeless,  indifferent  mass  and 
contour  of  the  buildings  on  the  river-front, 
the  litter  of  the  wharves,  the  lounging  black 
barges  beside  them,  the  rumble  of  traffic  on 
the  bridge  and  in  distant  streets,  the  dusky, 
gliding  river  lapping  the  stone  piers  and 
wooden  piles,  and  going  on  forever  while 
men  come  and  go.  He  thought  how  the 
stone  piers  would  sometime  waste  and  fall, 
and  the  Muscadine  would  still  go  on,  turbid 
and  unperturbed. 

"Adaptability  seems  the  great  test  of  per 
manence,"  he  thought.  "  Whatever  is  rigid 
is  fragile." 

In    front    of    the    Champney    house    he 


340  Conclusion 


stopped  and  looked  up  past  the  lawn  and  saw 
old  Henry  Champney,  sitting  in  a  wicker 
chair  that  was  planted  on  the  gravel  walk. 
He  was  leaning  forward,  his  chin  on  his 
cane,  and  gazing  absorbed  at  his  two  grand 
children  at  his  feet,  a  brown-haired  child 
and  a  dark-haired  baby.  They  were  digging 
holes  in  the  gravel  with  iron  spoons. 

What  with  the  street,  the  railway,  and  the 
river,  it  might  almost  be  said  that  from  the 
Champney  lawns  one  watched  the  world  go 
by,  clattering,  rolling,  puffing,  travelling 
these  its  three  concurrent  highways.  But 
Henry  Champney  seemed  to  take  no  interest 
now  in  this  world's  triple  highways,  nor 
to  hear  their  clamour,  but  only  cared  now 
to  watch  the  dark-haired  baby,  and  listen 
to  the  little  cooing  voices. 


THE  END 


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After  a  considerable  separation,  an  imaginative  and  audacious 
promoter  meets  his  boyhood  friend,  and  proposes  booming  the  town 
of  Lattimore.  Falling  into  their  boy  talk,  they  speak  of  themselves 
as  pirates  capturing  golden  argosies.  Lattimore  grows  like  the  city 
of  a  dream,  and  when  a  mighty  enemy  rises  against  it,  the  two  partners 
regard  their  investors  as  "  the  captives  below  decks,"  and  hold  life 
itself  cheap  in  their  effort  to  protect  them,  and  there  is  a  last  great 
battle  to  save  their  city.  Though  the  main  theme  is  one  of  business 
speculation,  one  of  the  strongest  characters  is  the  girl  Josie,  daughter 
of  an  old  cattleman,  to  whom  she  is  almost  a  mother,  striving  mightily 
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a  Wall  Street  financier  and  a  heroic  railroad  engineer. 


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The  story  of  the  adventures  of  three  American  engineers  and 
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of  a  great  tomb,  and  a  repeated  warning  on  an  inner  door,  and  enter 
to  the  utmost  depths  of  this  resting-place  of  one  of  Egypt's  mighty 
dead.  This  is  frankly  a  tale  of  terror  and  of  mystery,  so  impressively 
and  plausibly  handled  that  when  it  is  finished  the  reader  can  understand 
how  one  of  the  engineers  still  thought,  though  he  scarcely  believed, 
that  the  strange  and  terrible  experiences  of  his  two  comrades  could  be 
explained  by  natural  causes. 

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IJ  The  love  story  of  a  beautiful  American  and 
a  gallant  Englishman,  who  stoops  to  conquer. 
Two  almost  human  automobiles,  the  one 
German,  heavy  and  stubborn,  and  the  other 
French,  light  and  easy-going,  play  prominent 
parts.  There  is  much  humor.  Picturesque 
scenes  in  Provence,  Spain  and  Italy  pass  be 
fore  the  reader's  eyes  in  rapid  succession. 

Nation:  "Such  delightful  people,  and  such  delightful  scenes.  .  .  . 
It  should  be  a  good,  practical  guide  to  those  about  to  go  over 
the  same  course,  while  its  charming  descriptions  of  travel  afford 
an  ample  new  fund  of  pleasure,  tinged  with  envy  here  and  there 
to  the  stay-at-homes." 

N.  T.  Sun:  "A  pleasant  and  felicitous  romance." 

Springfield  Republican :   "Wholly  new,  and  decidedly  entertaining." 

Brooklyn  Eaglt :  "A  novel  novel  and  an  all-around  good  one." 

Chicago  Pott:  "Sprightly  humor  .  .  .  the  story  moves." 

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^f  An  absorbing  tale  of  a  modern  mystery,  in  which  the 
horror  of  the  opening  situation  is  but  lightly  touched  on, 
and  the  chief  appeal  is  made  by  ingenuity,  dramatic  situ 
ation,  and  suspense.  It  starts  with  the  rinding  of  a  New 
York  banker,  stabbed  to  death  in  his  office.  The  lawyer 
who  finally  unravels  the  tangle  does  so  in  a  highly  original 
manner.  There  are  many  stirring  incidents,  while  the 
scenes  shift  from  New  York,  partly  in  the  French  quarter, 
to  an  ocean  steamer  and  to  France. 

NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE  :- 

Professor  Dicey  recently  said  to  a  company  of  students: 
"  If  you  like  a  detective  story  take  care  you  read  a  good  de 
tective  story."  This  is  a  good  detective  story,  and  it  is  the 
better  because  the  part  of  the  hero  is  not  filled  by  a  member 
of  the  profession.  .  .  .  The  reader  will  not  want  to  put  the 
book  down  until  he  has  reached  the  last  page.  This  is  one  of 
the  most  ingeniously  constructed  detective»  stories  we  have 
read  in  a  long  time,  and  it  is  well  written  into  the  bargain. 

NEW  YORK  MAIL  AND  EXPRESS:— 

Worth  reading  .  .  .  ingenious  without  violating  proba 
bility. 

SPRINGFIELD  REPUBLICAN:— 

Unusually  clever. 
BOSTON  TRANSCRIPT  :— 

Developed   with  novelty  and  originality    .     .     .    may  be 

heartily  commended. 

BUFFALO  COMMERCIAL:— 
Of  rare  interest  and  intricacy. 


HENRY    HOLT    and    COMPANY, 

x>  W.  33d  Street  (xii  '03)  NEW  YORK 


FIFTH  IMPRESSION  of  a  humorous  book  with 
humorous  illustrations. 

Cheerful  Americans 

By  CHARLES  BATTELL  LOOMIS. 

With  24  Illustrations  by  FLORENCE  SCOVEL  SHINN,  FANNY 
Y.  CORY  and  others.  izmo,  $1.25. 

C|  Seventeen  humorous  tales,  including  three 
quaint  automobile  stones,  and  the  "Ameri 
cans  Abroad"  series,  "The  Man  of  Patty," 
"Too  Much  Boy,"  "The  Men  Who  Swapped 
Languages,"  "Veritable  Quidors,"  etc. 

N.   Y.   TIMES  SATURDAY  REVIEW 

says  of  one  of  the  stories:  "IT  IS  WORTHY  OF  FRANK  STOCK 
TON."  The  rest  of  the  notice  praises  the  book. 

N.   Y.    TRIBUNE: 

"He  is  unaffectedly  funny,  and  entertains  us  from  beginning  to  end." 

NATION: 

"The  mere  name  and  the  very  cover  are  full  of  hope.  .  .  .  This  small 
volume  is  a  safe  one  to  lend  to  a  gambler,  an  invalid,  a  hypochondriac, 
or  an  old  lady;  more  than  safe  for  the  normal  man.  .  .  .  The  book 
should  fulfil  a  useful  mission  on  rainy  days,  and  on  kerosene-steeped 
evenings  in  those  spots  of  earth  where  men  and  women  do  congregate." 

N.  Y.   COMMERCIAL  ADVERTISER: 

"His  opera-Douffe  portrayals  of  American  types  are  distinctly  enjoy 
able.  Most  of  us  have  met  them  or  their  next  of  kin  in  real  life.  .  .  . 
The  volume  is  abundantly  illustrated,  and  the  artists  have  admirably 
caught  the  spirit  of  the  author's  humor." 

BOSTON  TRANSCRIPT,  8-19-03: 

"A  new  and  very  interesting  collection. .  .  .  Of  the  seventeen  stories  in 
the  book  there  is  scarcely  one  not  marked  by  an  originality  of  plot  and 
an  abundance  of  healthful  humor.  ...  He  who  reads  the  first  story  will 
read  them  all  and  wish  for  more." 

CHICAGO  TRIBUNE: 

"The  title  is  a  stroke  of  genius.  The  book  is  sanely  American  and 
one  of  the  cheeriest  books  published  in  a  long  time.  .  .  .  The  humor  is 
natural,  the  characters  well  drawn,  and  the  style  simple  and  unaffected. 
.  .  .  The  automobile  stories,  while  distinctly  original,  suggest  Stockton 
in  their  serious  absurdity.  .  .  .  When  Mr.  Loomis  has  written  another 
volume  or  two  like  it  we  will  treat  him  like  the  other  immortal  and 
drop  the  Mr." 

HENRY    HOLT  &   COMPANY, 

TORK.  (x/oj).  CHICAGO. 


Some  thirty  genial  satires  on  subjects  of  universal  interest. 

The  Thoughtless  Thoughts  of 
darisabel 

By   ISA    CARRINGTON    CABELL. 

nmo,  gilt  top,  $1.15  net  (by  mail  $1.37). 

The  topics  include:  "The  New  Man,"  "The  Child,"  "One's 
Relatives,"  "The  Telltale  House,"  "Servants,"  "Dinner  Parties," 
"Ignorance  is  Bliss,"  "Liking  vs.  Love,"  "Nervous  Prostra 
tion,"  etc. 

N.  Y.  TIMES  SATURDAY  REVIEW: 

"That  the  discriminating  ought  to  approve  the  book  is 
unquestionable  .  .  .  written  with  a  delicacy  of  style  and  a 
happiness  of  expression  that  very  few  essayists  of  today  pos 
sess  .  .  .  peculiarly  dainty  work.  .  .  .  The  moods  in 
'Carisabel's'  book  are  as  many  as  the  moods  of  a  woman, 
but  always  in  comedy  and  pathos,  there  are  the  same  ten 
derness  and  delicacy.  The  book  is  distinctly  worth  reading." 
N.  Y.  TRIBUNE: 

"New  points  of  view  presented  in  sprightly  fashion." 
N.  Y.  COMMERCIAL  ADVERTISER: 

"Clever    conversation,    bright,    graceful    dabs    of    opinion 
and  epigram." 
WASHINGTON  STAR: 

"Her  wit  is  keen  and  pointed." 
WASHINGTON  POST: 

"Extremely  clever  and  thoroughly  amusing." 
PUBLIC  OPINION: 

"Witty,  easily  moving  comment  on  the  world  and  the  fol 
lies    thereof    .     .     .    delightful,    but   at    the    same    time    thor 
oughly  wise." 
PROVIDENCE  JOURNAL: 

"The  author  has  some  exceedingly  pertinent  and  illumi 
nating  things  to  say  .  .  .  written  in  a  vein  of  whimsical 
humor  and  gentle  irony,  as  of  one,  who,  looking  on  at  the 
game  of  life,  sees  all  the  shams  and  insincerities,  and  yet 
finds  it  worth  while." 
BALTIMORE  SUN: 

"There  is  apparently  no  limit  to  Mrs.  Cabell's  versatil 
ity.  .  .  .  She  has  a  keen  perception  of  what  is  ridiculous 
or  amusing  .  .  .  originality,  perfection  of  style,  pun- 
fency  of  comment  and  depth  of  penetration." 

HENRY    HOLT    AND     COMPANY, 

a9  W.  *sd  Street,  (Xii,  'oj).  NEW  YORK. 


TWO    BRIEF   AND    BRILLIANT    BOOKS. 

i6mo.      With  Frontispieces.      75  cents  each. 

Merry  Hearts 

By  ANNE  STORY  ALLEN.      With  Frontispiece  by  ELIOT  KEEN. 

Miss  Allen's  stories,  notably  "By  the  Favor  of  the  Gods," 
in  a  recent  Harper's  Monthly,  have  won  acceptance  by  our 
leading  magazines.  This,  her  first  book,  tells  of  certain  experi 
ences  of  two  bachelor  girls  in  New  York  (the  one  a  painter  of 
miniatures  and  the  other  a  writer  of  idyllic  tales),  who  wrest 
happiness  from  unpromising  circumstances. 

TIMES'  SATURDAY  REVIEW: 

"  Bear  it  in  mind,  there  is  nothing  brighter  or  better  in  its  cheer- 
ful,  dainty,  trifling  way  ...  a  little  simple  story  of  young  love  aad 
good  fellowship,  with  a  touch  of  genuine  and  appreciable  pathos  .  .  . 
with  no  waste  of  words. 
N.Y.  TRIBUNE: 

"The  laughter  and  sentiment  are  unforced    ...    it  fills 
an  hour  in  capital  fashion." 
LITERARY  NEWS: 

"This  story  has  really  pleased  a  very  old  and  very  worn 
novel-reader,    and    is    heartily    commended    as    calculated   to 
cheer  up  the  readers." 
SPRINGFIELD  REPUBLICAN: 

"It  will  cheer  and  entertain." 

A  Duke  and  His  Double 

By  EDWARD  S.  VAN  ZILE. 
With  Frontispiece  by  FLORENCE  SCOVEL  SHINN.     jd  Impression. 

A  tale  of  New  York  life  today  that  has  most  of  the  quali 
ties  of  a  rattling  comedy.  The  Duke's  Double  is  an  engaging 
mystery.  Staggering  as  the  Chicago  Flour  Merchant's  plan  for 
substituting  him  for  the  Duke  appears,  it  is  carried  out  with 
much  plausibility. 

N.  Y.  COMMERCIAL  ADVERTISER: 

"Genial  farce-comedy,  impossible  complications  and  droll 
cross-purposes  .  .  .  carried  to  a  finish  with  such  an  air  of 
assurance  that  only  when  the  last  page  is  turned  does  the 
reader  realize  how  preposterous  it  all  was." 

N.  Y.  TIMES  SATURDAY  REVIEW: 

"Buoyant,  frolicking,  even  boisterous  farce.  .  .  .  We 
can  honestly  commend  Mr.  Van  Zile's  book  as  good  summer 
reading  ...  a  book  to  really  read  when  one  is  in  no 
tnood  for  serious  thought." 

HENRY    HOLT    AND     COMPANY, 

»9  W.  zsd  Street,  (xiij  'OJ).  NEW  YORK.. 


YB  73619 


863714 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


